


Loyalty and Other Complications

by the_lanky_kat



Series: The Magicked [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A Little Astronomy, Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Elementals, False Gods/Goddesses, Fluff, Immortals, Loyalty, M/M, Magic, Multi, Past, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supernatural Creatures, The Slowest Burn to Ever Slow Burn, Time - Freeform, Warning: there is bad language throughout, abilities, cop!iwaizumi, friendships, just thought I'd warn you here instead of having to say it every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_lanky_kat/pseuds/the_lanky_kat
Summary: Complicated: 
Com•pli•cat•edAdjectiveSynonyms: intricate, tricky, complex, involved, perplexing1. Something made more difficult or confusing by causing it to be more complex2. Involving many different and confusing aspects3. Involving complicationsExample 1: What Iwaizumi's life is about to become.Example 2: A defining character trait of Oikawa Tooru.





	1. Those Who Are Extraordinary

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for deciding to read this! And also take an "I'm sorry" in advance. I hope you enjoy this! :D

**Petra, Jordan—312 BCE**

The crowds were unbearable this time of day. The streets of Petra—one of the largest trade cities in Jordan—were packed with merchants and thieves alike, all trying to whittle the best deal out of the other. Some of them wore jewels and fine silks, the others wore but measly, worn rags and possessed only dirt and dust to ornament their skin. Amongst them, one could be ordinary or extraordinary and not a single soul would know who was who.

And that's why the streets of Petra were dangerous.

A fairly tall man with curly black hair and piercing green eyes shuffles through the crowd, slender and pale hand resting firmly on his hip where his knife and coin purse were stored. He knew quite a few good pickpockets that taught him the best tricks to keep safe in crowds like these. In all honesty, if it weren't a highly important mission of the most dire of consequences, the man would not have ventured out at such an hour of bustling people and dangerous plots.

He squeezes through the masses of people crowded along dusty roads and makes his way to the most popular area of Petra: The Great Temple. It was a heavily guarded area, filled with all sorts of magicked beings, and it was all run by one man, an elemental named Shrara. Shrara had arisen to power by the abuse of his magic—his power over earth. The Nabataeans considered him a god, but really he was but a mere mortal man such as any other. The curly haired man had encountered many, many mortals who thought themselves deities in his numerous years.

As the man approaches The Great Temple, he observes the carvings etched into the stone. They speak of how the god Dushrara had erected mountains and allowed the Nabataeans to build their homes and temples in the mountains. Then, on a slab of stone recently carved was a depiction of Dushrara handing the orb that symbolized his power to Shrara. The thought that a man such as Shrara would add the to sacred grounds of the temples of the Nabataeans with false truths made the man seethe. The man had seen what Shrara was capable of—what Shrara's noblemen followers were capable of—and such sins would not easily be forgiven, not by him nor by the real deities, whoever and wherever they may be.

Two gold-plated guards stood at the entrance to the temple, filtering people in if they were worthy and rejecting those who weren't. _What pigs_ , the man seethes. He pulls his cloak closer to him and double-checks to make sure his knife is with him. A shame if it wasn't, but thankfully it was tucked safely away.

The man lowered his head and mingled into the equally eager and angry crowd pushing and shoving forward towards the temple entrance. He grimaced as strangers knocked into him, jostling him around like a pale toy doll. He keeps a firm hand on his knife and coin purse, hand pressed firmly against rough cloth, feeling the shape of the seven gold coins he possessed. As he gets closer to the guards he can immediately tell at least one of them is a non-typical judging by the hand at his side firmly coated in gold. Not that he expected any less, this was Shrara after all, a man he has been hunting for months. Of course he would have Midas with him. The guards stop the people in front of him—a man and his daughter, merchants, judging by their fancier than average clothes—and inspect the two of them.

"You there, what's your magic, eh? No freeloading mortals!" the gold-handed man booms, and everyone nearby cringes.

"I have the gift of being able to grow plants," the merchant says, peeling his lips back into an uneasy smile (it was more of a grimace really).

"And your daughter?" Midas asks, narrowing his golden eyes.

"An elemental," the merchant man says proudly.

The man next to Midas slowly rakes his eyes up and down the two of them before nodding and stepping out of the entryway, letting the two pass (a truth-seer of some sort perhaps?). The curly haired man steps up, head lowered and staring at the ground beside Midas's golden feet.

"Eh? What's your magic? You're not from 'round here," Midas says, glaring.

"I have none," the man says, the words falling smoothly from his thin pink lips. He enjoys speaking this language, it melts like gold off of his tongue.

The man beside Midas looks the curly haired man up and down with more scrutiny than before, and it gives him shivers to be looked at in such a prying manner.

"What's your name, foreigner?" the man rumbles, barely possessing a subtle hint of foreign accent in his words.

"Akaashi," he responds quietly, green eyes flickering up to meet the other man's. The man blinks but nods and steps away, meanwhile Midas grins a predatory smile.

"Shrara has been expecting you, Akaashi," Midas says.

He looks somewhat like a cat that managed to trap it's prey, and Shrara would most likely be the same. Too bad Shrara would not be the cat this time. Akaashi likes that thought. Akaashi likes being the cat.

Akaashi shakes his head to clear his head as he steps between them, carefully sliding through as to not hit Midas's gold plated shoulder. Sure, Midas only could turn things to gold from skin-to-skin contact, but Akaashi did not want to take the slightest chance, not while the fate of Petra lay in his hands.

The entrance to The Great Temple was eerie and dark, only flickering torches lighting the way. Dust had settled atop the carvings of the history of Petra, abused for years because of the presence of Shrara contaminating this sacred place.

Akaashi vaguely wondered if the history books would even remember Petra after Shrara was done with it. Yes, trade was booming, for now, but Shrara was burning through connections like wheat in a fire.

Akaashi shuffles into the central room with the few others allowed through, they snake into a short curving line. In the center of the open space there is Shrara atop his golden throne, splayed across it like he had no cares in the world. A dark part of Akaashi whispers that Shrara soon will not feel so carefree, and it was glad.

What was most interesting about Shrara was not his attire or his hair or eyes, but the artful paintings curling across his skin. The skin-paintings depicted many things, including the 'monsters' Shrara was protecting the people from; too bad Shrara was the real monster. The paintings glow red and blue and slither across Shrara's tanned skin like snakes on the prowl for a nice juicy mouse to sink its fangs into.

Shrara's blue eyes flicker across the crowd, searching and prying. His eyes meet upon Akaashi's and the false-god smiles poisonously.

"Akaashi Keiji!" he booms, causing everyone in the room—including the guards—to flinch.

Akaashi dips into a small bow, folding himself at the waist. His eyes immediately train on the divots in the ground, too random to be anything except runes and sigils. Was Shrara intending to evoke the magic settled deep within the people of his realm? If Akaashi had been one day later, it's possible Shrara would have started using these runes to transfer his people's power into himself.

"Please," Shrara practically yells, "come greet me, old friend."

_We are not old friends_ , Akaashi growls internally, but says nothing, only steps away from the crowd to kneel in front of Shrara's golden throne, his cloak swirling around him like a black abyss against the sandy gold floor.

"Rise!" Shrara booms, and Akaashi does as commanded.

"Your Highness," Akaashi says quietly, tilting his head towards Shrara. "You were expecting me?"

"Ah!" Shrara laughs. "I have been expecting you for many, many years. It is not so often one of your kind makes their way into my Temple!"

"My kind?" Akaashi asks with an irked tone that lacks no amount of bitterness.

"Ah, I meant no offense," Shrara says, forcing a horrendously fake smile to stretch out upon his face like a lazy cat taking a nap.

"I came here to ask you a very sensitive question," Akaashi says, eyes flashing menacingly as he lifts his head to glare at Shrara's elaborate headdress (too full of jewels and gems, too immodest for Akaashi's tastes).

Shrara motions for Akaashi to continue, flicking his hand like he were shooing a pesky fly. Something shifts in Akaashi, something dark and hell bent on a path equally dark and hideous. It's something both Akaashi loves and fears. He would say it's a part of him, but it's not really him anymore, is it?

"Would you rather surrender your throne to the rightful king and remove your hideous additions to the carvings, or be killed by my blade?" Akaashi asks, lips pursed.

Everyone in the room has gone quiet, the guard's eyes have gone wide, Shrara has moved to sit up into a more commanding position as well. Akaashi is fairly sure no one has asked this to Shrara before.

"You think you could kill me, mortal?" Shrara asks, his voice dangerously low, his shoulders squared defensively.

Akaashi doesn't even blink at the question, it's a simple and honest truth.

"Quite easily, yes."

The guards watch Shrara curiously, obviously wishing their lord to obliterate Akaashi like the disrespectful maggot he appears to be. Akaashi has no magic, only that of which was forced upon him, none of which he was born with. If it is not his, is he the one who is magical? Many have asked Akaashi this question, but even Akaashi himself doesn't even know. All he knows is his magic is a curse, and he is using his curse to preserve humanity.

"Really? Let's find out then," Shrara says, flicking his hand forward to command his guards.

Akaashi likes to pretend he doesn't like this part, that he doesn't like the soft smell of blood saturating the air, the sticky feel over his fingers. He loves it, the feeling of an enemy's life bleeding from their body. He wishes he didn't love it, but he does.

  
He refrains from using his knife on the first guard, he doesn't need to. The first one approaches clumsily with his sword raised halfheartedly. The other man doesn't want to fight. Akaashi knows he should feel bad, but he doesn't.

He grabs ahold of the guard's sword, the sharp blade biting into his palm, and thrusts the hilt of the sword into the guard's stomach, momentarily winding him. He snaps the guard's flimsy neck like it's nothing, relishing in the feel of bones snapping under his fingertips.

The second guard, he can see, has telekinesis. Quite an average ability, Akaashi is unimpressed. The guard tries to flick Akaashi away as he storms forward to where Akaashi is standing, but Akaashi does not budge one bit. He will not budge unless he wants to. He swiftly picks up the first guard's blade and impales it deep inside the second guard's chest with a throw of pinpoint accuracy.

After that, the guards decide they've played around enough.

The remaining four rush him simultaneously, two from the left and two from the right. Akaashi's eyes flick over their hands. The two on the right are incredibly fast and incredibly strong: Shapeshifters. The two on the left have the power of telekinesis. Quite an unimpressive lineup.

Akaashi takes out his knife, the silver ringing sweetly as its freed from its leather prison, the hilt glowing an icy blue color as he arches it in the air.

" _Ensoyana tabó_!" he growls, and his knife glows brighter in response.

The four stop in their tracks, frozen in place, literally.

Akaashi sheaths his knife once more, striding up to the cluster of frozen guards. He peers at one of them, recognizing him from an earlier moment in time that Akaashi cannot name. Akaashi lifts his delicate, pale hand to flick the forehead of the familiar guard, causing the man to fall to the ground and shatter into a thousand shimmering pieces. Akaashi likes ice, it's cold and brutal and deceivingly beautiful, but it's also cursed to never be warm like the others.

Akaashi's pretty sure he's the only one who likes the ice.

He looks up at Shrara, who's face has gone an ashen shade. Clearly he has been underestimated by the false god. And now for the fun part of Akaashi's day, well, besides the death of evil men such as the guards.

"Now," Akaashi says, opening his mouth to show two pairs of pointed and glistening canines, "shall we begin negotiations, Shrara?"


	2. The First Complication (in a long line of complications)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi is a cop who deals with ridiculous people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the next chapter! I know I'm updating fast but I'm hoping if I keep up a swift pace my Writer Doubts™ won't sink in until later so I can get more done quickly. Also be warned because there is bad language in this chapter because Iwaizumi has a potty mouth. Enjoy! :D

**Present Day**

Iwaizumi sits at his desk, thoughtlessly sifting through piles and piles of paperwork. He's half asleep as he reads them, all complaints from the higher ups whining about how ineffective some of Iwaizumi's cops are. Iwaizumi's people  _are_ effective, just not in the way anyone with seniority over him wants them to be. Then again, most of the time Iwaizumi and his people are given pointless cases, mostly complaints or superstitions from the richer part of the community.

What annoys Iwaizumi the most about their damn pointless cases is the absolutely absurdity of it all. How stupid can these people be? Half the time the "home intruders" are just lost as fuck pizza delivery guys who just need some god damn directions, and not some whiny rich woman with like forty cats meowing into her damn phone as she tries to contact the authorities over something as stupid that poor guy trying to get some help.

Iwaizumi sighs deeply and tosses the papers back into a never ending stack of reports and things to file. He'll have to pull at least three more all-nighters just to catch up, much less factoring in the reports that will come swarming in throughout next week. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his desk, blocking his face with his hands and makes a noise of utter defeat.

It's been a long ass week, thank god it's finally Friday. Or, that's what Iwaizumi would think if he didn't have to work tomorrow as well, and maybe the day after.

He groans pitifully, letting his head fall heavily onto his pile of papers.

"I-Iwaizumi-san?" Yachi—one of their youngest recruits—asks from across the room.

They're most likely the only ones left there, everyone else on call or asleep at home, the lucky bastards. But at least Yachi is here with him, she may be too sweet and shy to be a really good field agent, the rich assholes in their district would eat her alive, the poor thing. But she has quite the work ethic, she's great with computers, and she's one of the only people that Iwaizumi genuinely would be okay spending late nights at the office with, which is why Iwaizumi chose her over the others he could have hired.

"If I called in dead tomorrow would I get the rest of the week off," Iwaizumi asks, face still buried in piles of unfinished paperwork.

"Um, I'm not sure... but, uh, I got a call for you on line five," she says.

Wow, Iwaizumi must really be tired, he didn't even hear the phone ring.

He peels himself away from the warm embrace of the desk, wishing he could just sleep there for the rest of the night instead of having to drive all the way home. He picks up the phone beside him and hits the number five button.

"What?" he grumbles into the receiver.

"Hello, I'd like to report a crime," a man's voice says.

"What crime?" Iwaizumi asks, not in a hurry to get up.

"Uh, I think someone's breaking into my neighbor's house? He's quite sketchy looking and he's wearing a baseball cap, can you believe it?"

Iwaizumi almost slams the phone onto his desk, but refrains, considering the money to replace the phone would have to come out of his own paycheck. Not that it would cost a lot, of course, the phone is older than Irihata-san, and that's _old_ , especially for a phone.

"Sir, I think you're overreacting," Iwaizumi says as calmly as possible.

"I'm _not_ overreacting! If you don't send someone right away, then I'll report your station to your supervisors!" the man yells.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, a habit he doesn't know where he picked up that signals his annoyance. He really _does not_ have time for this. But a citizen is a citizen no mater how ridiculous or rich they are and it's his duty to serve the people. And also he doesn't want his supervisor getting another angry phone call.

"Fine. I'll send someone right away," Iwaizumi huffs out. "Name and address?"

"Daishou Suguru, corner of 850 North Street and Main Street! Send someone immediately!" the man says before immediately hanging up.

"Yachi," Iwaizumi calls out.

She quickly appears, blonde head peeking out from underneath her desk. She blushes and quickly rights herself, and honestly Iwaizumi doesn't want to ask why she crawled under there.

"Send someone immediately to the corner of 850 North and Main," Iwaizumi commands.

Yachi doesn't move, only blinks at him with panic.

"Uh, s-sir, there isn't anyone else? Here? Just you and I? So— I mean, do I have to? You know—"

Iwaizumi slams his head down onto his desk, making Yachi squeak in alarm.

"It's fine Yachi, I'll go," Iwaizumi mutters.

He really, really wishes he had a different job as of right now.

*****

A half hour and a quarter gallon of gas later, Iwaizumi is pulling up to some fancy house along some fancy street in some fancy suburb. It's the kind of neighborhood one would see in advertisements for perfect houses and great areas to live while putting your snotty nosed little brat with daddy issues through private school. Iwaizumi was convinced that this was the least sketchy neighborhood in the world. Honestly the only thing sketchy about this place was Iwaizumi and his old, beat up car.

Iwaizumi leisurely strolls up the cement stairs, eyes flicking over the patio chair rocking back and forth when the light wind brushed through. Iwaizumi knocks on the door with three curt knocks, then steps back to watch the door.

No one answers.

He frowns slightly but knocks again, repeating his previous actions. Yet no one answers this time either. His hand immediately finds the pistol at his side, but he doesn't pull it out just yet. This area isn't sketchy, but it send weird chills up his spine. He's probably being paranoid, but his hands itch to have his gun out as a safety precaution, but he knows if he so much as draws his gun the neighbors would see his sketchy clothes and his sketchy car and then call the police on _him_. That'd be fun explaining to Irihata-san.

Iwaizumi wanders up to the nearest window and peers inside, but sadly the curtains are drawn closed, and either way he's not sure what he would see if the curtains weren't in the way anyway, it's not like anyone's home.

Iwaizumi is about to turn around and head back to the station—because this was obviously some prank call, there is no sign of any breaking and entering—when he sees a flicker of motion in the reflection in the window.

Iwaizumi only sees it for a second, but it's enough to make him spin around, gun drawn and the safety off. He scans the area before lowering his gun, but not putting it away just yet. Maybe he's just sleep deprived? That's highly likely, he's been really pushing himself these past few days. Yeah, he totally didn't see anything, just his eyes playing tricks.

And... if he did see anything it probably could have been a bat. Yeah, that seems about right. It _was_ kind of leathery and black like a bat, and it was flying, but in the window it seemed almost... human? It had possess two legs and two arms and a face, half covered in scales, but it did _have_ a face nonetheless.

Or maybe it was just a weird sleep deprivation hallucination. Or maybe he was going crazy. Or maybe he just hit his head too hard on his desk and gave himself a concussion. All options are more believable than him seeing a bat/human/thing.

Iwaizumi attempts to steady his heartbeat by taking a few calming breaths, but that itchy feeling in his hands and that weird chill running up and down his spine hadn't left yet, but it would, because nothing was there.

Iwaizumi lets out a shaky sigh and shakes his head to himself, mentally reminding himself to get more than two hours of sleep next time he returns to his dingy apartment. He slips his pistol back into its holster; he's being ridiculous.

The cop walks back to his car (a little less leisurely this time) and slides into the front seat, starting up his car mechanically. The blue vehicle starts up with a hum and a cough, like it's protesting his use of this thing.

_I know_ , he sighs, _but my paycheck is shit and I can't afford to fix you up like you deserve._

He's about to put the car in drive when he hears something that sounds like a cough, a human cough. Iwaizumi turns around in his seat, gun already unholstered, to face the man in the back of his car. It's dark, so he can't get a good look at the guy's face before he latches on to Iwaizumi's arm and twists, causing a sharp pain to spike up into his elbow and shoulder (an old sports injury, but there is no possible way this guy could know that). Iwaizumi scrambles to grab his gun with his left hand as the weapon falls from his right hand, but the other man grabs the gun first.

"Hello there, Mr. Iwaizumi," the man purrs venomously, "it's nice to finally meet you."

With a unnaturally quick motion, the man slams the grip of Iwaizumi's gun into the other's head. Iwaizumi's head falls against the steering wheel with a thud, and all Iwaizumi sees before he falls unconscious is the blurry tattoo winding up the man's forearm. He's pretty sure the tattoo is of a snake, and he's also pretty sure that tattoo moved.

*****

Iwaizumi wakes up with a splitting headache that pierces through his skull like a lightning strike. He moves to rub at his forehead to ease the pain, but when he attempts to tug his arm up to his face he quickly finds that he _can't_. His eyes flicker open and he has to squint at the blinding light of day streaming in through the window, but as his eyes adjust he realizes he's in _deep shit_.

He lets his bound hands go limp as he surveys the room. He's obviously in the same neighborhood he got knocked out in, the room is too fancy to be anywhere else. He can tell just from the dresser with its elaborate wooden carvings. Other than that, there really isn't much in the room as far as he can see. There are curtains fluttering in the window that are white with red designs much like those on the dresser. The curtains and the dresser seem to be the only things—other than Iwaizumi—in the room.

Iwaizumi wiggles around in the chair a bit, hoping to loosen the zip ties that he realizes are wrapped around not only his hands, but his feet as well. The plastic bites into his skin as he rotates his wrists, hoping the zip ties would be loose enough that he could slip his hands out. Sadly, whoever put these things on him seems to know how to tie their zip ties correctly.

Iwaizumi lets out a string of curses as he twists his wrists some more, ignoring the painful burning of the tie against his skin.

_Shit. This isn't working._

"Oh good!" a man's overly-chirpy voice says. "You're awake!"

Iwaizumi's eyes flick up from the ground to look for the source of the voice, but he finds none.

_He's behind me._

That thought runs through Iwaizumi's brain accompanied by a jolt of panic. Iwaizumi fights the ties to turn to the right to catch a glimpse of his kidnapper, but a firm hand on his shoulder makes him immediately cease all movements. The hand feels overly warm through the sleeve of his shirt, like someone has placed a hot cup of coffee on his shoulder. The hand feels like it could burn him, if his kidnapper wanted to.

Iwaizumi's breath catches in his throat as warm radiates from the man's skin behind him, warming the side of his neck and head. His kidnapper brings their lips close to his ear, warm air brushing across his neck with every inhale and exhale.

"I think," the man hums thoughtfully, "we need to talk, Iwaizumi-kun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! :D


	3. You Can Lead a Horse to Water (but you can't  make him drink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can lead (or take) a horse to water but you can't make him drink.
> 
> Proverb  
> 1\. You can give someone an opportunity, but you can't force them to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be next chapter. This thing was a bitch to write because I couldn't keep anyone in character and I had to keep deleting what I had written. Thankfully the third time is—in fact—the charm. Enjoy! :D

**Present Day**

Iwaizumi's kidnapper laughs maniacally at the startled look on his face, but it can't really be called laughing, it's more like cackling. The man spins Iwaizumi and his chair around to face him, but not without some difficulty. That's one advantage Iwaizumi has over this man: Iwaizumi's definitely stronger.

This side of the room is just as empty as the other side with the exception of another chair and a cardboard box in the corner of the room, and sadly no trace of his gun anywhere. The man steps back and sits down in the chair across from Iwaizumi. The guy seems like he'd be difficult to take in a fight; he's got that easy kind of grace that gives off the impression that he can and will use his body fluidly in a fight. The man leans back in the chair and slings his right leg over his left. It's obvious this man is trying to use his own comfort to make Iwaizumi uncomfortable, but Iwaizumi wasn't one to be easily intimidated, even while being held hostage. It's just not who he is.

His mentor's words echo around in his head: _always keep calm, even when your body is panicking, tell it to shut the fuck up and you observe your enemy and surroundings; tell yourself you're going to get out and prepare for when you do._

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and a moment to size the kidnapper up. He's tall—barely taller than Iwaizumi—and seems fairly well-built in a lean sort of way, if the guy's tight-fitting grey suit is any indication. He's definitely from the richer side of the community based on the probable cost of that suit plus that shiny new watch the guy is wearing. His hair is a kind of 'artfully messy', complete with brown fringe falling over his chocolate colored eyes. He's got pale skin, as if he doesn't get out much, or maybe he just has naturally fair skin the way Iwaizumi is naturally tan. If someone were to ask Iwaizumi, he'd probably say that the man was fairly attractive. Or, he would be, if he hadn't kidnapped Iwaizumi for no particular reason.

"What do you want from me?" Iwaizumi asks, shifting in his chair to take some of the strain off of his aching shoulder.

His kidnapper sits there and blinks lazily at him before flashing him an easy smile full of brilliant white teeth.

"I want to know how you got here," the man says.

Iwaizumi furrows his brow and frowns deeply.

"Don't you already know that? You kidnapped me," Iwaizumi points out.

Iwaizumi's kidnapper (?) hums quietly and shakes his head from side to side. The man begins drumming his pale fingers on his thigh; a nervous habit perhaps?

"I didn't kidnap you," the man says, sighing deeply as if he's disappointed. "You were—I assume—kidnapped and tied up before being dumped on my doorstep with your wallet and badge still on you. It's quite the mystery, really."

Iwaizumi is taken aback by this. He's being held hostage by the man, but apparently he wasn't kidnapped by him. Iwaizumi would say the man is lying, but then again, why would he say he didn't kidnap Iwaizumi if he did actually kidnap him. There's really no point in lying about something like that.

"So, if you didn't kidnap me, then why are you holding me hostage? That's kind of stupid to hold someone hostage when you didn't kidnap them," Iwaizumi says.

"Ah, that's a bit harder to answer," the man says, scratching nervously at the back of his neck.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, it can't be _that_ hard to explain. Obviously this man did something to cause someone to drop of an unconscious cop at his doorstep, though Iwaizumi's not entirely sure why he was kidnapped in the first place, and clearly this man doesn't know either.

"Just... Do you remember anything about who did this or why?" the man says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Not really," Iwaizumi says, "I was investigating a call about a breaking and entering called in by some guy, I went to the house, nobody was there and there was no sign of any crime, so I got in my car to leave and there was a guy in the backseat somehow, then I guess I ended up here."

The man hums thoughtfully and leans back again, his foot tapping in a manner Iwaizumi can only describe as extremely annoying. He halfheartedly notes that the guy probably has a real problem sitting still, like he's always restless.

"Can you remember anything about the man in the back of your car? Anything about the man who called?"

"I'm not positive but I think the guy in my car had a tattoo of a snake, but he hit me pretty hard so..." Iwaizumi says, shrugging as best as he can.

The man hisses out a sigh of frustration and runs a hand through his hair, which probably should have messed it up but instead it only looked fluffier than before and equally as 'artful'.

"What about the guy who called? Aren't you guys required to get their names or something?" the man pries.

"That's private information," Iwaizumi answers firmly. "It's the station's business, I'm liable."

The man rolls his eyes and scoffs at Iwaizumi's answer.

"As if the government won't give that out to multibillion dollar corporations later on in life, okay? Just tell me, maybe it'll help me figure out who did this."

Iwaizumi eyes the man warily, but he does have a point, it'll help, but he's also pretty sure that Daishou Suguru is not the same man who kidnapped him. If he is, Iwaizumi has to give him a round of applause for being able to completely change the tone of his voice.

"The call was from a man named Daishou Suguru, that's all I know," Iwaizumi says  
.  
Apparently Iwaizumi said something that interests the man, because he's out of his chair in a second, hovering over Iwaizumi threateningly.

"Daishou?" he asks. "That's the name?"

Iwaizumi nods and looks at the man with curiosity, that name must mean something to him then.

"Fuck," the man whispers angrily, turning his back to Iwaizumi to pace over to the cardboard box. "Shit! What's his game? Why the cop? There's no _advantage_ for him! What's the damn—"

He suddenly seems to remember Iwaizumi is there and slowly turns his head, flashing Iwaizumi a smile that can be only seen as creepy and threatening.

"You don't tell anyone about this, you understand?"

Iwaizumi's frown deepens.

"Why not? The cops could find this guy and bring him in to—"

"That's the problem with you people," the man interrupts, bending down and pulling a syringe out of the box.

Iwaizumi's eyes widen when the man flicks the tip of the syringe. The clear liquid swishes back and forth as the man approaches where Iwaizumi is sitting.

"You people think the cops can find him, think you can find him and bring him to justice, but you can't," the man says thoughtfully. "You can't because this isn't your fight. And me? I'm _trying_ to keep all of you out of this and safe. So you better listen to me and not tell anyone, or I'll kill you myself."

Iwaizumi struggles to get free of his restraints as the man steps closer, but the man latches onto his arm and holds it steady. He presses the needle into Iwaizumi's arm and Iwaizumi watches with unabashed horror as the clear liquid drains from the syringe and into his arm.

"What did you do?" Iwaizumi demands angrily.

The man tosses the needle behind his back onto the floor somewhere, which, if Iwaizumi was less concerned with _what the hell was in that syringe_ , he might have pointed out that letting a needle lay on the ground was not only unsanitary but unsafe as well.

"Listen to me," the man says, leaning forward into Iwaizumi's space and gripping both of his shoulders with two unnaturally warm hands. " _Listen_. You need to forget any of this happened. If your people ask, tell them you went home after checking out the house and nothing else. Don't go _anywhere_ unsupervised, okay?"

Iwaizumi feels funny, but he nods as seriously as possible nonetheless. His whole body feels kind of numb and the guy holding his shoulders is becoming sort of blurry.

"Just, stay away from anyone you don't know. Don't trust _anyone_. I don't know what their game is, but I think they're trying to get you involved. _Don't_ get involved, if you do, they'll come for you and then you won't be able to get out. It may already be too late. Are you listening, Iwaizumi? Focus. Don't go anywhere unfamiliar with anyone you don't know. Just don't, okay? Don't go _anywhere_. Forget this ever happened, okay? Forget this ever—"

And then Iwaizumi was unconscious, for the second time that day.

*****

Iwaizumi wakes up with _another_ splitting headache. For a sweet, blissful second he forgets about what happened and wonders why the hell he's in his bed instead of at the station, and then the reality of it all comes crashing down upon him like the world's largest boulder.

"Well, fuck," Iwaizumi swears in the general direction of his ceiling fan.

As he watches the fan spin in tired circles, he ponders what happened. So, on today (and last night's?) tally has been: kidnapped? Check. Hit in the head with his own gun? Check. Been held hostage (by a different guy than the one who kidnapped him, oddly enough)? Check. Been zip tied to a chair? Check. Had a weird clear liquid injected into his arm (probably Etixolam, it's the most common over-the-counter sedative)? Check. Woken up with a splitting headache and way too many questions? Double check.

Iwaizumi is seriously considering getting a different job in a different town and not having to deal with this shit.

_Well_ , he muses to himself, _at least I'm getting caught up on my sleep._

Iwaizumi sits up slowly in his bed and rubs at his eyes. He is half considering going back to sleep, but he knows he'll just sit there and think about what's happened and all of his numerous questions until he drives himself insane instead of actually sleeping.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lets his feet adjust to the cold of the floor for a moment, staring blankly at the wood floor as he runs the bottoms of his feet across it.

Honestly, he feels like he should be more bothered by this than he actually is. He's been kidnapped and held hostage and then told he has to forget everything and 'not get involved' in whatever he's pretty sure he's already gotten involved in by accident. Maybe he's in some weird form of denial? But that doesn't sound right, he knows what's happened, he's not questioning that. It's more like... he's curious. Why him? Why that one guy? Who's Daishou Suguru? What is up with the whole he's-not-supposed-to-get-involved-in-but-he's-also-pretty-sure-he's-already-involved-in-it scenario?

Maybe he's not bothered because his whole life has pretty much been a gigantic shit storm of weirdness and cops. Maybe it's all just a coincidence. Maybe it's fate. Who knows?

Certainly not him.

Iwaizumi sighs and rubs at his eyes again before standing and moving over to his desk that he never uses. He lifts his eyebrows in surprise when he finds his gun, wallet, and badge laying on the desk. Interesting.

He leaves them there and heads out to his kitchen to wander around and heat up some leftover ramen from two or three nights ago, but he immediately stops in his tracks when he gets into his kitchen.

There's a note taped to his kitchen cabinet.

Some paranoid part of him tells him to check the rest of the apartment just in case someone is still there. Thankfully, his apartment is small and fairly bare, so it takes less than a minute to check for any intruders and check the lock on the windows and the door.

Iwaizumi forces down his mild panic and tears the note off of the cabinet door and scans through it.

_To My Dear Iwaizumi,  
Don't listen to Oikawa's bullshit, the guy is crazy. Go to the park at seven and everything will be explained. I can give you _ answers _, Iwai_ _zumi._  
~ Lots of love,  
Your Friend Daishou.

Iwaizumi reads the note once, then twice, and then wads the note up and throws it in the trash can where it belongs. If Daishou's plan was to unsettle him, then it was working, but if his plan was to get Iwaizumi to go to the park, then Daishou wasn't going to be happy. Iwaizumi was pretty sure he was never going to leave his apartment again as of right now. Well, at least he knows the name of his kidnapper and now the man who was holding him hostage (temporarily apparently).

Instead of focusing on the note, Iwaizumi decides to heat up his ramen, which is a good idea in theory, but ramen takes a few minutes to heat up in his shitty little microwave and that leaves him plenty of time to think about the note, and Daishou, and the man whose name is apparently Oikawa.

The worst part is, the longer Iwaizumi paces around his kitchen, the better of an idea it seems to head to the park at seven and get some answers. It's not like Iwaizumi knows Daishou or Oikawa, but he's always had a good sense for people and right now Oikawa seems more reliable than Daishou, even if he is crazy. But then again, Iwaizumi wants— _needs_ —answers. If he goes to the park then hopefully he'll get some sort of an explanation. Plus, he can always bring his gun with him and shoot Daishou if anything goes wrong.

' _Don't get involved_.'

He _needs_ answers.

' _Don't go anywhere unfamiliar_.'

The park isn't exactly unfamiliar, Iwaizumi's gone past it two or three times while jogging before, it's just a small woods surrounding stone pathways and it's lit by streetlights.

' _Stay away from anyone you don't know._ '

_'I can give you_ answers _, Iwaizumi._ '

When the microwave beeps to signal that Iwaizumi's ramen is done being heated up, the apartment is suspiciously empty and Iwaizumi's gun, wallet, badge, and jacket are gone as well.

' _Don't get involved, if you do, they'll come for you and then you won't be able to get out. It may already be too late._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked it! Thanks for reading! :D


	4. Those Who Are Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past holds many complications that may make their way into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who wanted AkaKen, here it is, probably the fluffiest version it will ever be in. This is the second (or third?) to last chapter that goes back in time so just, stay with me please. You'll see the importance of it later. Enjoy! :D

**Near the Ancient Ruins of Uyun al-Hammam in Jordan, 12,237 BCE**

Kenma swiftly makes his way up a fairly steep hill, his converse stirring up the dust that resides in the dry grass. He's not late, not early, just... on time, as usual. He passes by a young girl, skipping with a handful of wild flowers (all different and vibrant colors: reds, blues, and purples) clutched in her hands. Her braided, brown hair flicks at where his hand would be, but it just passes right through him, or maybe he passes through it, he's not sure.

At the top of the hill there is a boy sitting beside an ox, petting the creature's large head and murmuring gently to it. The tenderness and vulnerability in the boy's soft smile nearly stops Kenma in his tracks—as it does almost every time. Kenma shakes his head to himself, trying to scatter his jumbled thoughts to the furthest corners of his consciousness and approaches the boy.

He doesn't notice Kenma at first, like usual. He's deep into a one-sided conversation with the ox, who stares right through the spot where Kenma stands. Kenma usually takes this time to admire the boy, who is one of the most brilliantly beautiful people Kenma has ever seen. He has beautiful black, curly hair and bright, intelligent green eyes along with a soft and gentle smile that peels back pink lips and displays the soft white of his teeth. The boy has a single dimple on his right cheek, one that couldn't be seen unless one caught him unaware, and typically the only one to do that would be Kenma.

In the middle of his story, something about his older sister, the boy looks up and his eyes flick to Kenma like small green magnets. A slow smile turns the boy's lips up and his hand stills on the oxen's head.

"Kenma," the boy breathes, and Kenma feels something stir in his chest, "you're right on time, as always. Come, sit."

Kenma gives the boy a small smile and moves to sit in front of him, thin limbs folded into a cross-legged position. Kenma makes sure to stay as far as possible from the ox, as to not disturb the creature. While most humans remain unaffected by Kenma's presence, animals can feel it when he touches them, but yet they cannot see, hear, or smell him, so it causes them discomfort and sometimes mild panic if he accidentally bumps into them.

The boy gives a small grin to Kenma before returning to telling the ox his story. Kenma waits patiently as if they have all the time in the world (and Kenma supposes they do, in a way). When the boy finishes up his tale, he sits and pets the ox's coarse hair, his mouth quirked into a small smile of mischief.

"Aren't you gonna ask it?" the boy asks wryly, his mouth now curved into a full-on grin.

Kenma quirks an eyebrow and feels his lips form a small smile too.

"You know," the boy says, clearing his throat to prepare his terrible impression of Kenma's voice, "'Hey Keiji, why do you talk to the animals like they're people?' You always ask!"

Kenma can't help but giggle slightly at that, the impression always sounds too deep for his voice and too loud and a little bit like Kermit the Frog, but maybe with his fifteen-year-old voice that's what he sounds like to Keiji. Kenma's pretty sure Keiji does it on purpose by now though, as to make Kenma laugh. At least, Kenma hopes that's not what his voice sounds like to other people, or he may never speak to anyone but Keiji ever again (because Keiji would never make fun of him, not for anything).  
  
"Hey Keiji," Kenma asks quietly, dipping his head to hide his face with his hair, "why do you talk to the animals like they're people?"

Keiji smiles and leans forward, using his free hand to brush the poorly dyed blonde hair away from Kenma's eye. Keiji tucks the hair behind Kenma's ear and then lets his soft, pale fingers trail down Kenma's cheek. Kenma shivers at the intimate contact that Keiji often offers; sometimes he offers this with hugs, sometimes with these gentle touches, sometimes with a brush of lips across Kenma's cheek or hand, either way, Kenma cherishes them all.

"I talk to the animals because," Keiji whispers quietly, fingers still pressed against Kenma's cheek tenderly. His words are a secret just between the two of them, a secret they both know the words to, "everything has a soul, and each soul craves the same three things. So I offer it, because everything is equal, humans and beasts and deities alike crave the same comforts..."

Kenma finishes the statement in the same wistful tone Keiji has taken on.

"Loyalty, love, and life," Kenma says, but it feels more and more like a pledge each time he repeats it (a pledge to what he's not sure).

Keiji leans back and removes his fingers, and Kenma immediately misses the warm presence.

"Kenma, why do you ask that every day?" Keiji asks, returning to stroking the ox's head.

Kenma pretends ponders this for a moment, although he already knows the answer.

"I enjoy hearing you say it, your voice is pleasant."

Keiji smiles softly and casts his eyes downwards in an act Kenma recognizes as shyness. Kenma always thinks this looks best on Keiji, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and dark eyelashes framing his cheekbones perfectly in the evening light. It makes something that feels warm and fiery flutter in his heart.

"You came in late to the story," Keiji says quietly, "do you want to hear the rest of it?"

After a short moment, Kenma quickly realizes Keiji is speaking about the story he was telling the ox, and nods in a nearly microscopic motion. Luckily, Keiji is very observant like Kenma and sees the minuscule movement. Keiji quickly launches himself into what his older sister said to their mother, making the woman lash out and it ended in Keiji and his four sisters being divided up into teams to start a mud war with their mother who was having a good time, regardless of what she said when she made them all clean it up.

Kenma decides he likes Keiji like this too, gleefully telling stories and waving his hands in the air as he talks. Kenma likes all forms of Keiji, Kenma just plain old likes Keiji. Keiji finishes his story with a gleeful laugh that has pink blooming across his cheeks in a beautiful hue.

Kenma smiles softly to himself and plays with the grass as Keiji quickly moves on to talking about something else. Kenma likes how passionate Keiji is about everything too, but he's not _too_ passionate or _too_ loud unlike people back in Kenma's hometown. And he never makes Kenma talk either, just accepts that he doesn't like to talk as much as others would prefer. It doesn't seem to bother Keiji either, which is nice as well.

Keiji is once again in the middle of his story when his mother interrupts him. She looks a lot like Keiji with her curly, black hair and forest green eyes.

"Keiji, it's time for dinner!" she calls out, then quietly slips back inside their small hut.

  
Keiji looks kind of disappointed to leave, and Kenma's pretty sure he has the same look on his own face. Yet they both know this whole song and dance like they do it every single day (it's because they do).

"You could always stay for dinner," Keiji suggests, playing with his fingers nervously.

"I can't, I have to get back," Kenma says timidly (he's never quite sure, he always wants to stay).

Keiji nods solemnly and stands to leave, but hesitates. He quickly takes a step towards Kenma and bends down, now eye level with Kenma, who's blushing despite himself. Keiji plants a soft kiss to Kenma's cheek, which has both their cheeks burning as well.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Keiji says, eyes flicking up to gaze into Kenma's own.

"Tomorrow," Kenma agrees (it's more of a promise), and gives Keiji an uncertain smile that he's pretty sure looks more like a grimace.

Keiji nods in agreement and slowly makes his way towards the hut, occasionally glancing back to look at Kenma, but Kenma always waits before he leaves. Only after Keiji gets into the hut, greeting his sisters and parents in turn, Kenma stands. Kenma summons his abilities (they always leave a tingling trail from the skin over his heart to his forehead) and focuses on his house in the suburbs, focuses on the feel of the breeze, focuses on the grass on the front lawn. With a soft glow of gold, Kenma disappears into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it! :D


	5. The Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi makes questionable decisions that are a little... complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! Warning: I'm not sure if what I wrote counts as 'Graphic Descriptions of Pain' or whatever but in case you don't wanna read that part you can skip it. It's from: "Iwaizumi yanks his whole body" to "His breath comes in". I hope you enjoy it! :D

**Present Day**

Iwaizumi pulls in to a parking spot with his beat up, blue car at around 7:15 pm. The sun has just set over the treetops, casting a soft orange glow over the uncovered parts of the park. Due to the thick canopy overtop most of the wooded area, the shadows are darker and more mysterious than the deceivingly cheerful light that's been cast upon the rest of the open area.

Other than Iwaizumi, the only other person residing in the park is an old woman. She's sitting on one of the faded green benches feeding the pigeons that hop back and forth on the stone walkway at her feet. Iwaizumi grabs his tan jacket—an old one, his grandfather's, but it still is the warmest and best made jacket he owns—from the backseat and exits his car. His gun is safely tucked away at his hip and his badge and wallet lay safely nestled in the pocket opposite of the one his gun rests over.

He considers going to sit on the other free bench beside the elderly woman, but he doesn't really want hoards of birds swarming him while he waits. Instead, he chooses to fold his jacket over his arm and lean back against his car as casually as possible. He's fairly certain he looks like he did as a kid (ungrateful little shit is probably a better way to describe his teenage self), back before he isolated himself from his 'friends', picked up a second job at that shitty little convenience store a half block from his house, and then—about a year-and-a-half later—decided to become a cop. Believe it or not, Iwaizumi actually had a rebellious streak back then.

He chuckles to himself as he remembers how he used to have this same car and fold this same old jacket over his arm. He used to wear black a lot more back then too, and instead of a gun at his hip it was a knife. The only real difference from back then is when he'd lean against his car and wait for his buddies to arrive so they could do something stupid, he'd smoke a cigarette. He'd hated the taste—hated how much they costed too—but Iwaizumi thought it made him look cool so he smoked them anyway. It took him nearly four years to quit after he started, and he hasn't smoked since he officially became a cop, but right now his fingers itch to hold a cigarette between them and then repeat the familiar exhale-and-inhale of smoke that he sort of misses.

Iwaizumi sighs agitatedly to himself and begins restlessly tapping his fingers on his thigh. He wants to get this over with, wants to _know_ , so that he can stop the questions from swirling around in his head like coffee creamer that turns the glisten of black and bitter coffee murky and faded. Iwaizumi runs a hand down his face and forces his anxiousness down into the pit of his stomach, telling himself to focus on anything else but if Daishou was going to show up or not, and if he does show up, what might happen then.

Iwaizumi begrudgingly turns his focus back to the old lady, who's still tossing out breadcrumbs to the pigeons and cooing to them sweetly. His eyes flicker over to look out into the woods aimlessly and he catches sight of a raven watching him intently. It's brilliant blue eyes are a little eerie, but Iwaizumi doesn't get the chance to ponder that before his eyes come upon a strange glow whose origin appears to lie somewhere in the center of the forest.

Iwaizumi frowns slightly and finds himself pushing off of where he was leaning on his car and walking in the direction of the glow without a second thought about the matter. The old woman pays him no mind as he skirts around her bench and birds, heading into the steadily growing shadows of the woods.

The forest is definitely a lot darker than he thought it would be, and now Iwaizumi regrets not bringing a flashlight or something else to light his path (and also make the forest a little less of an ideal crime scene for a murderer). Iwaizumi finds the woods to be a little ~~extremely~~ creepy, like something out of a cheesy horror film set in the 1980s, and finds himself moving with extreme caution despite the fact that Iwaizumi is a _policeman_ and is _definitely not_ creeped out.

When stray tree limbs brush across the bare skin of his arms he realizes dew has already formed in the shadowy regions of the woods. It feels colder here too, and Iwaizumi is half tempted to put on his jacket. This whole place gives Iwaizumi a sense of dread and overall uneasiness. It's the type of unease that arises when one feels as if one is being driven into an inescapable corner.

As Iwaizumi follows the silver glow (it's growing brighter as he walks, which is a good sign), he feels as if he's being tugged forward by some invisible force. The eeriness of the whole situation does not fade, especially when he can hear animals shuffling around in the undergrowth (at least, he hopes it's animals).

After a few more minutes of walking, he stumbles upon a small clearing. As a human, the prospect of a clearing seems safe; he can see anyone or anything that tries to approach him. But as a cop, the clearing seems more like a death sentence; he'll be practically defenseless without the cover of trees and shrubbery if someone were to attack him.

Paranoia should be enough to keep his normal human instincts at bay, but that invisible force tugs him forward into the clearing; his feet move on their own accord as if they have a secret agenda they forgot to inform him about. He's close to the glow now too, it's coming from the tree line right across from where he is on the opposite side of the clearing. He half-walks half-jogs to the light in order to keep himself from being too exposed for too long. The silver light is blinding at first, but then it seems to turn down the wattage of its brightness after a moment.

It only takes Iwaizumi a moment to realize that the light is coming from an engraving in the tree. The light encircles the tree like a belt, the width about that of his palm. It almost seems like some sort of writing, if he's going to be honest with himself, he's never seen anything like it though. The script is curly and bold, but it's a mess of jumbled symbols and letters that make absolutely no sense to Iwaizumi. It's beautiful though, in a way, with the soft light it seems to inflict upon the surrounding area. Iwaizumi's not sure how he saw it from so far away, but he's glad he did, it's sort of amazing.

Iwaizumi lifts his hand and lightly traces the outline of one of the symbols, careful not to touch the silver and only the damp tree bark. It's soothing to run his rough and calloused fingers over the even rougher feel of the bark. But he's suddenly struck with an urge to touch the silver light, more of an impulse really. It's _such_ a bad idea—he doesn't know what this is or why it's even here—but like with most bad ideas, half the appeal is the fact that it _shouldn't_ be done.

The same invisible force that earlier tugged at Iwaizumi's feet now tugs at his hand, urging him to just barely brush his hand across the symbols.

The silver glow feels smooth and cold, kind of like ice, but also warm at the same time, it seems to pulse under his fingertips too, kind of like a heartbeat. The pulsing sensation seems to travel up his arm, causing the feeling of pinpricks to erupt along its path. A sharp spike of pain along his shoulder is what jolts him out of this weird trance, which is both a good and bad thing. It's a good thing because now Iwaizumi is aware that he needs to get the hell away from this thing. It's a bad thing because now the pulsing and pinpricks _hurt_.

Iwaizumi yanks his whole body away from the silver symbols, but it seems to catch to his arm and hang on for dear life. He watches in horror as it burns it's way up his neck and down to curl over his chest, like it's trying to encompass him or something. He tries to wipe it off, but that only spreads it to his other arm and seems to increase the burning sensation.

It crawls up and down Iwaizumi's body until he's completely covered in it, even his eyes are covered and burning, but strangely enough he can still see perfectly fine. The burning feeling increases even more, and this time it's enough to make him let out a shout of pain, futilely attempting to scrape the silver off with his blunt nails. The burning sensation suddenly switches to freezing, which is a whole different kind of pain. Iwaizumi immediately curls into himself, dropping to his knees in order to hug his body close in any attempt to lock in his body heat.

He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as possible as an ache begins to set in inside his bones. His ears start ringing with a furious intensity; it's so fucking _loud_. His hands come up from where he's been furiously attempting to scratch warmth into his sides to now cover his ears in an attempt to drown out the piercing noise. The pain slowly crawls it's way into his eyes, which makes him press his face into the ground as any sort of relief. A dull ache begins in his mouth then morphs into some kind of angry vengeance on his life for who knows what; he vaguely registers that it feels like someone's yanking his teeth out of his gums and then sewing them back in with razor wire.

And his _nose_ , that's what hurts the most. He opens his mouth in a silent scream as fire seems to burn through his nose and then stop to rest in his brain. Then, the pain dulls to a slow but still excruciatingly painful ache. Iwaizumi's now on his hands and knees, his face pressed into the dew soaked grass.

His breath comes in short pants that make his lungs burn and his throat ache. He lifts his head from the ground and pries open his eyes, it hurts to even look anywhere but straight forward, but even then he sees everything with a clarity he barely registers as odd for this time of night. With a rush of white noise, his hearing comes back in full force; he can even hear the scratching of tiny feet scrambling across the ground (mice, his brain supplies). He bends his head down and sniffs at the ground, causing an explosion of emotions to overwhelm him.

It's a certain smell, soft and warm, and it reminds him of something he can't quite remember, but it's nice, and his legs move without him giving it any thought. He's got to find that smell. He _has_ to.

As he runs, he realizes it feels different, like he's moving with more... force? Strength? Ease? _Ease_. It sinks into his bones and he doesn't even notice, with the padding of his paws sinking in to the earth as he searches, that he's not quite himself anymore, but he's not _not_ him either. Same person, same morals, different form, different instincts.

He doesn't have much time to think about it though, the smell is strong, and something inside tells him he's found it. He doesn't run to the source of the smell, instead he crouches at the edge of the tree line and waits, tail swishing back and forth anxiously against the soft grass. He raises his snout to the air, ears perked up attentively.

Along with the smell—nice, warm, comfort, trust, loyalty—there is another scent, darker and more bitter than the other—unfamiliar, mischievous, different, wary, _cat_.

He lowers his head and inches forward through the undergrowth to peer at the two men, both deeply immersed in a conversation he can't focus on long enough to understand. All he knows is the one that smells like loyalty is near-shouting something, waving his hands in the air to exaggerate his words, and the one who smells disgusting—like _cat_ of all things—is frowning deeply and smells frustrated, maybe a tad bit aggravated. The one who smells like cat steps forward and wraps a hand around the other's slim wrist, and suddenly Iwaizumi is launching himself out of the undergrowth before he even can register what he is doing.

Snarling and snapping his teeth in the air, he tackles the one who smells like cat; how _dare_ he lay a hand on the one who smells of loyalty. The one who smells of cat quickly recovers though and easily tosses him out of the way like he's nothing but a sack of flour. Him and the man who smells feline stare at each other, fur (metaphorically for one and literally for the other) rising on the backs of their necks threateningly.

But the one who smells warm grabs his scruff and flips him so his soft underside is exposed, and for a moment he considers lashing out to protect himself, but he doesn't dare hurt the one who smells like loyalty. The man leans over him, his fringe falling into his eyes, and says something, but he does not hear. He's too focused looking at the man's eyes—like melted chocolate, warm and sweet—and seeing the light inside of him.

_Protect_ , his subconscious whispers.

He's so absorbed in unconscious thought that he doesn't even notice when a needle pierces through the tough skin of his scruff, and he falls unconscious.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue evil sounding piano playing*  
> So, how'd you like it? Thank you for reading and commenting and kudo-ing (?) and stuff! :D


	6. Those Who Are Crazy (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi hopes he hasn't been kidnapped again and also he kind of wants to fight a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This thing turned out A LOT longer than I thought it would be. It's already double the size of the other chapters, so I decided to split it into two parts. I am just realizing right now that chapter size may vary the further I get into this thing—just warning you. This chapter is also known as: I italicize WAY too much. Anyways~ I hope you enjoy it!

**Present Day**

_This pillow smells funny_ , is Iwaizumi's first thought as he regains consciousness.

He groans at the dull aching in his arms and legs, wondering what the _hell_ he did last night. Iwaizumi stretches out his arms and relishes in the cracking noise that his shoulder makes, he then cracks his toes as well. He grabs onto the pillow by his head and tugs it to his chest, curling around the fluffy thing as tightly as humanly possible. The soft fabric of the sheets wraps around his legs like a vice as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position. He breathes out a heavy sigh and presses his nose in between his arm and the pillow, nuzzling it slightly.

_Wait a second_.

Iwaizumi's pillows are shit, they'd lost their fluff months ago from how much he crushes them against his body in his sleep. This pillow is fluffy, brand new almost, definitely not one of his.

His eyes flicker open and _oh shit he's not at his apartment._ He jolts upright into a sitting position, which is a bad idea because it makes the ache in his bones and muscles slightly intensify. What _did_ he do last night?

The last thing he can recall is trudging through the small woods in the park chasing after some sort of silver light. The rest of his memory has been strangely lost, a complete blank for where he is now or how he got here. Did he even meet up with Daishou last night? He can't remember, but he doesn't think so, but if he didn't meet Daishou in the park then how did he end up here? Another question: _where is here?_

Iwaizumi really hopes he hasn't been kidnapped again.

_Okay Iwaizumi, think. You had your gun on you last night—well, as far as you remember—it's probably around here somewhere._

Iwaizumi slings his legs over the edge of the bed and looks on the nightstand to his right, there's a glass of water and what appears to be some sort of generic pain medicine. He thinks about taking the pill to ease the pain in his limbs, but who knows what it really is or where it came from. He really doesn't want to gamble with his life over a few aches and pains; it could be poison for all he knows.

As he surveys the room, he is reminded of the nicer hotels his mom used to stay in when he was little; when he couldn't stay with his grandparents, she'd bring him with her on her various work trips and he'd do his schoolwork wherever they were staying next. He vaguely remembers teachers and students pitying him because he had to move around so much and stay in unfamiliar hotels, but he kind of liked them; he still likes hotels, the smell reminds him of his childhood.

Like the hotels Iwaizumi frequented, everything's clean and impersonal, but it's kind of fancy in a way. The room contains a dresser, nightstand, and desk as well as the bed he's currently sitting on. The room seems to be unused due to the lack of, well, much of anything, and the flowing, white curtains in the window are too pure of color to have been a part of a room used by anyone for too long. It kind of smells like a hotel too, like disinfectant and freshly boughten sheets that smell like the store. It's like a giant room full of Iwaizumi's nostalgia.

He digs his toes into the tan carpet beneath the soles of his feet; he likes carpet, just couldn't find an apartment to lease within his price range that had it. He gets up to check the dresser and desk's drawers for his gun, but finds nothing of the sort when he sifts through everything. What he does find though, are his clothes that he remembers wearing last night, which makes him do a double take because if he's not wearing his clothes, then whose sweatpants and t-shirt is he wearing? Also, when did he start wearing these clothes? He doesn't remember that either, but who really knows considering a good chunk of his memory has gone rogue.

He honestly should have noticed that he wasn't wearing his normal clothes sooner because the black sweatpants fall over his bare feet when he stands and the shirt, while not too tight, isn't as loose-fitting as Iwaizumi prefers. He's wearing someone else's clothes, apparently. Iwaizumi never wears sweatpants—he doesn't even think he owns a pair—that should have been his first hint along with the fact that he has a hard time relaxing when he's wearing jeans, so there is no way he would have fallen asleep with any sort of pants on.

He grabs his clothes and changes back into them as quickly as possible, in case someone decides now would be a good time to check on him or whatever they might plan to do. He feels disgusting wearing clothes from yesterday, but he figures it'd be easier to make his escape (if this morning is going to be like yesterday or the day before at all) in clothes that actually _fit_ him rather than have the possibility that he will fall over his feet and make himself trip and die, or worse, get caught.

The very last article of clothing he puts on is his grandfather's jacket, not because he's cold (it's actually quite warm in the room) but because it offers him a sense of familiarity. It even smells like his grandparents' house too, which is odd since the smell should have faded years ago. In the pocket of the jacket he's surprised to find his wallet still intact with his money and everything, but there's no sign of his gun, which makes him slightly uneasy. Either he just armed a civilian, completely lost it, or his weapon is now in the hands of a criminal. Not a very pleasant outcome either way.

He does a quick once over of the room to make sure there wasn't anything else he could use before walking over to the door that leads to who knows where.

_Please be unlocked, please be unlocked,_ he chants to himself.

Sure enough, the door is thankfully unlatched and it leads to a nice hallway with fancy paintings of the countryside and artful flowers are hanging up on the walls. There's two other rooms along this part of the hallway, and part of Iwaizumi wants to search the rooms for other people or his gun, but right now he needs to figure out the best way to escape that does not involve him having to jump from an open window somewhere. Hopefully he finds his gun along the way.

He quietly makes his way down the hallway, but hesitates before he rounds the corner. There's a light on, which means there is probably people, be it a good or bad thing. He turns the corner and inches his way over to the open entryway to what appears to be a kitchen. Someone's in there humming to themselves, and if his nose is correct, they're making coffee.

He peeks around the corner and...

_Not again!_ he screams internally, mentally bashing his head against the wall next to him.

It's the guy who held him hostage last time (did the note say his name was Oikawa?), and Iwaizumi would have been starting to feel panicked if it weren't for the fact that this Oikawa guy no longer looked... well, threatening in any way. It's way different seeing him in pajamas with little green alien heads on them than seeing him with an expensive suit, it's kind of funny actually. His hair is still the same, which immediately makes Iwaizumi suspicious of the realness of that guy's 'artful' styled hair (he probably puts like three bottles of product in his hair, but Iwaizumi digresses). He's sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth like a little kid, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as he scribbles things down on a notepad as he hums what Iwaizumi recognizes is a shitty, but somehow popular, pop song that's always on the radio.

What the hell happened to 'crazy guy in a fancy suit who kidnapped him'? It's now more like 'crazy guy who purposefully bought alien pajamas to sleep in yet still holds people hostage'.

If this guy was anyone different and the situation wasn't probably the fact that Iwaizumi's been held hostage by this guy, then he might think it's kind of cute. _Might_. Maybe. Okay it's cute, but that's not what Iwaizumi needs to be focusing on right now. At all. Iwaizumi tells himself he needs to focus more on keeping his raging bisexual hormones in check.

But what was Iwaizumi supposed to do now? His eyes instinctively flicker to the knives to the right of the Oikawa guy, which seems like a good idea: stab (or threaten to stab) Oikawa and make his way out of the house. Perfect plan. The only problem is that Iwaizumi's chest feels like it's being crushed when he thinks of hurting Oikawa, like his rib cage has suddenly decided to give his lungs a warm and friendly hug with the strength of a giant snake wrapping around him and squeezing the life out of his body. It's not like he's afraid to hurt anyone, he's done it before (not killed though, just shot the guy—he was a burglar—in the leg), so he's not sure why this is different. Either way, hurting the Oikawa guy is obviously off the table.

He could continue his search for an exit; that seems like a legitimate plan that doesn't involve stabbing anyone.

Iwaizumi decides continuing to follow the hallway seems like the best course of action, and he slips past the doorway carefully in order to avoid another confrontation with that Oikawa guy.

The hallway hosts another room too, what appears to be some sort of study from what Iwaizumi gathers from peeking through the crack in the door to check for any more people. There's star charts all over the place, and there appears to be a few maps of their small city with red lines drawn all over the place wth a few blue marks in random places too. This was certainly interesting, but Iwaizumi knows he should probably keep moving and quickly find the door and leave.

But that's before he sees the cat.

Every muscle in his body tenses as soon as he catches sight of the black feline, who doesn't seem to be too concerned with Iwaizumi. It looks like an alley cat, too scraggly to belong in this seemingly perfect house. It's lazily licking its paw and staring intensely at Iwaizumi with piercing golden eyes. It almost seems as if the cat's smirking at him, almost like it's challenging him. Part of Iwaizumi kind of wants to... fight the cat, which he realizes is a weird thought considering it's just a cat, but logic doesn't ease the overwhelming urge to go over there and maybe toss it across the room, show who's more dominant.

_Oh my god,_ Iwaizumi thinks, rubbing at his face, _I can't believe I want to fight a cat. Maybe I'm going insane._

But then the cat lets out a hideous yowl, causing Iwaizumi to cease any movement he might have wanted to make; the barely audible humming coming from the kitchen abruptly stops, as if listening to the cat. The cat makes another yowling sound, and this time Iwaizumi hears the sound of feet padding across the floor.

"Tetsu-chan, what the hell are you doing?" Oikawa asks loudly.

Iwaizumi bolts into the study and looks for a place to hide. Sadly, he was always bad at hide-and-seek as a kid, and the only real spot to hide would be under the desk, which is such a ridiculous idea. But the cat yowls again and Oikawa's footsteps grow louder the closer he gets.

Well, ridiculous idea or not, it's still better than whatever might happen when Oikawa finds his hostage has gotten loose (or was he even _being_ held hostage? Iwaizumi can't decide).

Iwaizumi somehow manages to cram his body under the desk, pulling the leather-covered chair back in as far as he can after he tucks himself underneath. The footsteps grow louder and Iwaizumi realizes that he can see through the few centimeters of space between the desk and the floor. It gives him a clear view of Oikawa's ridiculous socks, which _wow_ how did he not notice _those_ hideous things before? Little multicolored alien heads on neon green, fuzzy socks. Oh god. Why do they even sell those monstrosities? Who decided those horrendous things were a good idea?

"What do you want, Tetsu? If you're hungry you're gonna have to make your own food, because we both know I'll explode the kitchen if I try to make something," Oikawa tells the cat—Tetsu apparently—which is extremely strange in Iwaizumi's opinion, considering he's talking _to a cat_.

Well, Iwaizumi _did_ think about fighting the cat, so he decides to let the oddness of Oikawa's words slide.

The cat meows loudly and gracefully hops off of the desk, landing softly on the carpet. It slinks its way over to the space where Iwaizumi is looking through, wiggling its face close to Iwaizumi's. He frowns angrily at the cat and finds himself baring his teeth in spite of his rational that says _why the fuck are you baring your teeth at a cat, you're not a god damn dog Iwaizumi._

"Is there something down there Tetsu?" Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi sees him slowly lower himself down to his knees, one of which jerks as it touches the ground, as if it hurts to apply pressure too.

Iwaizumi takes this moment to shoot out from underneath the desk like a bat out of hell and launch himself across the room. His hand grips the door and throws it open, but there's a soft click and a gun pressed to his forehead before he can make another move.

"Okay now, Hachi, how about we chill out for a second," the man says, his voice is deeper than Oikawa's and from the side of Iwaizumi's vision he can see the man has a black bedhead that makes his hair stick up, at least on the side of his face that Iwaizumi can see.

Iwaizumi removes his hand from the doorknob and puts his hands in the air, other than that he remains as motionless as possible.

"Good job. Mr. Cop knows his stuff. Turn around, step away from the door," the man commands.

Iwaizumi does as he's told, but he has an undeniable urge to punch this guy _right in the face_. The gun stays pressed against his head as the man shuts and locks the door. Oikawa is looking on with wide eyes, but he doesn't seem to be frightened in the least despite the fact that this guy seemed to appear out of thin air, in fact, he kind of seems curious as to what will happen next.

"Tetsu-chan," Oikawa says quietly, "I thought we weren't going to hold him hostage, _again_. Don't get me wrong, I like holding people hostage as much as the next guy, but I thought you wanted to go with Nice-Guy rather than Hostage-Taker."

"Well, I thought I did, but then I realized I don't like his face, and plus all of this is his fault anyway," the guy—Tetsu? The cat but also apparently the guy—says. "He shouldn't have done the exact opposite of what you said, and if Daishou had actually arrived when it was just us then it would have been ridiculously easy for him to overtake us. Hachi here endangered all of us and everything we've worked for, just so we could save his ass. He isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, is he—"

Iwaizumi chooses this moment to slam his elbow back into Tetsu's stomach, causing the man to grunt in pain and double over (Iwaizumi has very pointy elbows and knows how to use them). Iwaizumi turns around and reaches to grab for what he can only assume is his gun, but the Tetsu guy manages to tackle Iwaizumi before he can get a good grip on his weapon, both of them sprawling to the floor in a heap. Iwaizumi and Tetsu both try to gain control of the situation, but while Tetsu has the height and weight advantage, Iwaizumi has more muscle than Tetsu does and has had some fairly good training from his mentor back at the police academy. Also it helps that Iwaizumi used to fight a lot as a kid; he may or may not have been known for his violent nature in grade and middle school.

Suddenly, it starts getting really warm in the room, like all the spring air has been sucked out of the room and has become hot and dry like the desert. Iwaizumi thinks he even sees sweat starting to bead on Tetsu's forehead as the temperature steadily increases at an unnatural pace. Something warm in Iwaizumi's chest begins to burn in a not completely pleasant—or unpleasant—way, like the crackling of an ember before it catches the surrounding tinder on fire. Why does Iwaizumi feel like _he's_ the tinder?

"Oikawa!" Tetsu yells as Iwaizumi pins one of his arms—the one with Iwaizumi's gun—to the ground. "Get the fuck out of here before you turn us all into a couple of burnt chicken legs!"

Oikawa scrambles away from them and out the door as Iwaizumi grabs the gun in Tetsu's hand and holds it to the other's head. The warm air seems to be sucked out of the room with the now open door letting clean air circulate throughout. Both Iwaizumi and Tetsu seem to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the stifling atmosphere is replaced with cool, spring air.

Iwaizumi keeps Tetsu pinned with his knees and weight, practically straddling the other man. Iwaizumi has a perfect shot between Tetsu's golden eyes if he wants to take it, and honestly there is so much fear and adrenaline inside of him that he almost considers it. This guy held a gun—his own gun—to his head, he has every right to pull the trigger.

But Tetsu obviously doesn't seem to think that, considering the smug grin plastered onto his face. He seems to ooze confidence, dominance, well whatever it is it seems to leave a metallic taste on his tongue. It makes him feel weak, kind of frail in a way he's not used to. He wants to fight back, prove he's stronger.

"Aren'tcha gonna pull the trigger?" Tetsu taunts, a laugh bubbling out of his throat.

"I will if you don't shut up," Iwaizumi says, but something inside of him whispers that he won't, he can't.

"No you won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

Iwaizumi grits his teeth together and forces his hands to stop shaking uncontrollably, "I'm the one with the gun, so you need to shut the hell up and let me think, dammit."

"You want answers, don't you, Iwaizumi?" Tetsu bribes. "You're already involved with this gigantic shitstorm—no matter how hard Oikawa tried to keep you out—so I'll find someone to tell you what's going on if you'll drop the gun and come with me to the kitchen."

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes and presses the barrel of the gun even harder into Tetsu's head; he's probably going to leave a mark there if he doesn't shoot him. No way he's surrendering to this bed-headed asshole though, even if he does really want to figure out what the hell has been going on.

"Or shoot me, you know, whatever," Tetsu adds as an afterthought.

"How about you tell me what's been going on right now and maybe I don't shoot you and your friend?" Iwaizumi growls threateningly, but it's a bluff, both of them know that.

"I'm not really one to explain this type of thing to someone like you, neither is Oikawa to be honest, he gets all conspiracy-theory-sounding, but if you let me make a call I can bring in someone who has been explaining to for, well, forever basically."

"Try and explain anyway," Iwaizumi says.

Tetsu sighs deeply and rolls his eyes.

"I'm Kuroo Tetsurou and I've been a shapeshifter since I was five," Tetsu (or should he call him Kuroo?) says.

Iwaizumi looks at him doubtfully, because a) shapeshifters weren't real, b) shapeshifters weren't real, and c) not to mention that _shapeshifters are not, nor have they ever been, real!!!_

"Are you insane?" Iwaizumi deadpans, eyes searching Kuroo's face for any sign that he's just screwing with him.

"Maybe," Kuroo's says, shrugging, "but if I'm crazy, then so are you. You're the one who went outside into the fucking park when there was a big burst of magic in your area."

Iwaizumi blinks twice at Kuroo in bewilderment. So now magic was apparently real, according to this weirdo. Iwaizumi did not have the patience to do this, his shoulder was starting to throb and he was tired, even though he had slept more in the past two days than he had the whole week before. He just wanted to get some straight answers and then go home and sleep for a few hours.

"Oikawa explains it better than me, somehow. He uses some fancy wording that basically just means "big fucking outburst of magic in concentrated amounts". I'm too lazy to learn what the official term is."

"What the _hell_ kind of drugs are you on?" Iwaizumi asks with a growl in his voice.

"The good ones," Kuroo answers without skipping a beat.

Kuroo chooses that moment to swipe the gun right out of Iwaizumi's hands—he distracted him, Iwaizumi tells himself, he didn't have time to pull the trigger. In one fluid motion Kuroo knocks Iwaizumi off of him and points the gun at the ceiling. _What the hell is he—_

Kuroo pulls the trigger, but the only thing that happens is a soft click sound comes from the gun, causing Kuroo to begin laughing hysterically (Iwaizumi kind of thinks he laughs like that deranged hyena from that one animated movie about the lions). Kuroo gradually recomposes himself and turns to grin at the startled expression on Iwaizumi's face.

"It's been empty this whole time. You really think Oikawa would let me shoot you? He went out of his way last night to save your ass, it's not like he wastes his time on people who don't have potential," Kuroo says, rolling his eyes.

The man lazily makes his way to his feet in the kind of graceful way cats do. Now that Iwaizumi isn't fighting with him or pinning him to the ground, he sees that the man is quite lanky, probably a good six or seven centimeters taller than him and probably a few pounds lighter. He's kind of got cat eyes too, with the way they seem to peer into Iwaizumi's soul, and his hair—while an atrocious bed head—kind of reminds him of a scruffy alley cat, now that he thinks about it.

Kuroo leans down and extends a hand to Iwaizumi, who just stares at the open palm in front of him blankly.

"Truce?" Kuroo asks, though Iwaizumi's not entirely sure what the truce is a truce to, but that doesn't really matter, because suddenly and without much thought Iwaizumi's taking his hand to pull himself up.

The metallic taste that hadn't left his mouth that whole time finally seems to ebb away; he hadn't even realized how bad it had tasted until now. Iwaizumi finds that he wants to punch this Kuroo guy less than he did before, like they've come to some kind of mutual understanding.

"Come with me, Oikawa will explain as much as he can," Kuroo says, exiting the room without waiting to see if Iwaizumi is following.

He considers running, but for some reason he can't quite pin down, he follows Kuroo out into the hallway and then into the kitchen, where Oikawa is sitting where he was before, swinging his legs back and forth childishly. He barely even acknowledges their entry to his kitchen, just motions to a group of cups and mumbles something about coffee as he sketches. Kuroo picks up one of the two free cups and pours himself some coffee; apparently he takes it without any cream or sugar, just like Iwaizumi (he has to admit, it makes him find Kuroo just a bit more tolerable; those people who drink their coffee like it's candy annoy him).

Iwaizumi stands awkwardly as Kuroo sips at his coffee and watches Oikawa draw or whatever he's doing from over his shoulder. It's kind of amusing and reminds Iwaizumi about how his mother used to peer over his shoulder as he did his homework on the dining room table, usually she'd say nothing and just watch him work, which was kind of nice in a way.

Oikawa eventually finishes whatever he's doing and closes the notepad, pushing it on the counter beside him.

"So," Oikawa chirps, folding his hands in his lap, "I take it you two settled your testosterone fueled match to determine who is the alpha male in this household for now?"

Iwaizumi looks at him with confusion and out of the corner of his eye he sees Kuroo shrug his shoulders and just take another sip of coffee.

"Don't feel bad about it," Oikawa says, "it's kinda hot, watching two extremely attractive male specimens rolling around on the floor for an empty gun. I'm pretty sure that's common shapeshifter behavior, well not exactly that, but you get my point. I'll have to google it later to be for certain though."

Oikawa winks at Iwaizumi and grins flirtatiously, flicking his hair out of his eyes. To his left Kuroo makes a scoffing noise, and Iwaizumi has to agree. Iwaizumi lifts an eyebrow at Oikawa curiously and folds his arms over his chest in a stubborn way. Is that guy seriously _flirting_ right now? Iwaizumi's not entirely sure, most people don't say things like that out loud. But Iwaizumi chooses to focus on a different part of Oikawa's sentence.

"'Common shapeshifter behavior'?" Iwaizumi asks.

"Oh," Oikawa says, tilting his head in an owlish way, "did Tetsu-chan not mention you're a shapeshifter too? That's very rude, Tetsu, excluding Cop-chan from the group like that."

_What_ , Iwaizumi thinks, frowning at Oikawa. _Why are all the attractive ones always crazy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting and kudo-ing! By the way, if you want to know why Kuroo is calling Iwaizumi "Hachi" it's from a movie (Hachi: A Dog's Tale). For those of you who don't know, Hachi is an abandoned dog who grows to be extremely loyal to the man who finds him. From what I remember of the movie, it's really good, I recommend you watch it sometime if you haven't already.   
> Thanks to all of you who hit the kudo button and commented, you all make my day better and my will to write stronger! I appreciate you all!   
> I hope you liked reading this so far! :D


	7. Those Who Are Crazy (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi learns some things, all of which cause him to question his sanity for wanting to believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~  
> First of all: my Winter Break ends tomorrow, so I won't be able to update as quickly, but I'm hoping to at least update once a week.
> 
> Second of all: I know this is a lot of information to throw at you at once. If you want something explained better/in more detail, just ask, I'll probably be able to answer your questions. Probably.
> 
> Third of all: Thank you for reading and commenting and kudo-ing and just overall sticking with me this far! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :D

**Present Day**

"Nope, no way," Iwaizumi denies, shaking his head back and forth. "You all are insane."

Oikawa furrows his eyebrows in a way that is kind of frightening and slams down his notepad down onto the table between him and Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi moves forward with thinly veiled interest, peering down at the paper curiously.

It's a sketch done with care, even though it's just a bunch of circles and a really out of place oval. Iwaizumi can tell from the way the circles are smooth and symmetrical, and not in the tracing kind of way. As someone who used to draw a lot as a kid, Iwaizumi understands how difficult it is to draw—or even trace—circles. Not to mention that oval, which must have been a gigantic pain in the ass to draw. But why would Oikawa spend his time on something like this?

"This," Oikawa says, pointing to a group of nine circles stacked inside each other on the the paper," is us. Our solar system."

Iwaizumi says nothing, just purses his lips and gets ready for whatever level of crazy is coming for him next. If this guy starts talking about aliens, Iwaizumi is going to slam Oikawa's head into the table and make a run for it.

"And this," Oikawa continues, pointing to a large oval that cuts through a few of the nine lines, "is Nibiru, or as some call it, Planet X."

Oikawa stops for a moment, wistfully tracing the orbit—or is it called an ellipse—with his pointer finger. That's odd, but Iwaizumi ignores it.

"Planet X is all theoretical, of course, but in a few weeks my father will be one of the first scientists to see it, if it indeed exists like we believe. It's quite interesting actually. It's believed that Planet X was pulled out of our solar system by some strange gravitational phenomenon but yet it still remained in our sun's gravitational pull, causing this ellipse you see here," he says, continuing to trace the abnormally shaped oval.

"It is believed that Planet X reaches its closest point to earth—and the sun—every thirty-six hundred years. It's believed that this planet—which is roughly the size of Neptune—causes earthquakes, the shifting of the North and South Poles, and causes severe volcanic eruptions amongst other things. But there are those all around the world who believe that it causes something even more rare and unbelievable: magic."

Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa blankly as he speaks. No way, magic isn't real, and if the planet only comes around every thirty-six hundred years, then how could anyone possibly know what it did or didn't cause? How could anyone know if it exists? But he lets Oikawa continue, because he is still confused how any of this applies to him, even if it all is probably just some conspiracy theory.

"Every thirty-six hundred years, there has been a spike in magical properties that usually results in these properties being inscribed into a spot typically in the form of silver script, like the one you found in the park. While we can't exactly trace it back, it's believed the Magicked—or what those born with magical properties describe themselves as—may have been descendants of those beings lucky enough to stumble upon these inscriptions, therefore infusing themselves with the power the inscription possesses."

Oikawa pauses, but Iwaizumi is still staring at the drawing of the solar system, his hands resting on the wooden table on either side of it. This is a lot of conspiracy theory in one room, but the way Oikawa says it makes it sound... credible. Which is crazy, even Iwaizumi knows that, but something about all of that just seems to make sense, in a strange kind of way.

Iwaizumi shakes his head to himself and sighs, still staring down at the table. He flinches when he feels soft skin apply pressure underneath his chin. Oikawa tilts his head up with elegant fingers, smiling stunningly at Iwaizumi when their eyes meet.

Iwaizumi stifles a gasp at how beautiful Oikawa's eyes are (how is that the last thing he noticed about the other man?). Oikawa's eyes are enchanting, a warm shade of brown unlike any color Iwaizumi has ever seen. They seem to hold little flecks of gold too that sort of seem to melt into his irises. If Iwaizumi had to describe them in one word, it'd have to be _smoldering_ , Oikawa's eyes seem to contain a certain warmth that sends little shivers down Iwaizumi's spine.

As Iwaizumi takes in a shaky breath, he wonders if anyone else has this reaction too. He feels as if... he can trust the other man. _Relax_ , Oikawa's eyes seem to whisper, _you're safe here. You can trust me._

Warmth burns in Iwaizumi's chest, and for a moment whatever is between him and Oikawa seems to be tangible. The feeling he gets is sort of like a warm and soft rope that flickers fire at the edge of Iwaizumi's consciousness, connecting them. Before it was kind of weak and flimsy, easily separable. But now... It's almost as if something that wasn't there before snaps into place, and the flickering fire roars to life, warming Iwaizumi pleasantly.

But then Oikawa's fingers are abruptly gone, and Iwaizumi misses the warmth immediately, and the weirdly tangible feeling between them disappears with Oikawa's fingers, but yet the ghost of both remain. He belatedly notices Oikawa's hands aren't as warm as they were the first time they met, the warmth feels more natural and familiar now.

Oikawa clears his throat awkwardly, his head tilted down and away from Iwaizumi in an embarrassed motion. Iwaizumi feels a faint warmth taint both his cheeks, which is unsurprising (he's always been easily embarrassed), but what _is_ surprising is that he thinks he sees a faint redness spread across Oikawa's cheeks as well. That doesn't seem to last long though, because then Oikawa has regained his composure and is looking up and flashing Iwaizumi a mischievous grin.

"Can your mind process all of that, Cop-chan? I know you were built for brawn and not brains and beauty like me~ I figured it might take your caveman brain longer to absorb information than mine would!" Oikawa teases, and Iwaizumi feels his fingers twitch in annoyance, as if itching to slap the man upside the head.

"Call me all brawn again and I'll let your face absorb my fist," Iwaizumi growls, but it comes out way more teasing and less serious than he would have liked.

"That doesn't make sense, Cop-chan~ Now let the brains continue talking and rest your caveman mind for a bit!" Oikawa needles with a grin.

He almost feels... comfortable now. As if before he was tense, which he didn't even notice, but somehow Oikawa seemed to put him at ease in seconds. He knows that makes Oikawa a dangerous enemy, but are they really enemies? Iwaizumi's not sure anymore, not with the way Oikawa is looking at him right now.

"Oikawa," Kuroo says with feigned impatience, "get back on topic."

"Ah~ My apologies," Oikawa says, waving his hand around airily. "Back to the matter at hand. Where was I again, Tetsu-chan?"

"You were about ready to start bashing on Ushiwaka and his family I believe," Kuroo says, leaning back against the counter with ease.

It seems as if Kuroo is really far away from the two of them, especially after Iwaizumi and Oikawa both gravitated towards the table and therefore each other. When did Iwaizumi begin leaning over the table? When did Oikawa start shifting so that their heads might brush together if one of them would only move forward just a bit?

"Ah, yes," Oikawa says, and suddenly his grin turns bitter, "Ushiwaka-chan. Well, there are those who are amongst us who believe that magic and our abilities makes us superior, and then there are some of us who believe we all are the same and that having magic or not having magic should not matter. Then, of course, there are those of us who believe those with magic are deities and those without should worship the ground we walk upon. It's a warped, twisted way of thinking, that Non-Magicked are lesser for not stumbling upon magical inscriptions, or being born into a family without magic, or sometimes the magic just completely skipping over them, even though everyone in their family holds magical properties within their DNA."

Oikawa sounds kind of melancholy at the part about those who did not gain magic with the rest of their family. There's a story behind that, Iwaizumi can tell, but for now he pays rapt attention to what Oikawa is saying.

"My father is a very important figure amongst the Magicked, seeing as he discovered the connection between the influx of magic and the closeness of Planet X, which means people... certain groups don't exactly get along well with me or my father for suggesting that they are not hand-picked to be magical," Oikawa says.

The little huff he added at the end makes his chocolate-colored fringe that brushes his forehead move up, just a little bit, before falling back to the same spot it previously was in.

"Our main rivals that openly denounce our theory of Magicked being picked randomly are the Ushijimas. A terrible group of people, I must tell you, they have the worst people skills and ridiculously serious faces. Mostly the elder Ushijima has been only debating against my father, publishing articles and the like, but with both the elder Ushijima and my father both in America, Ushiwaka-chan and I are left to hold down the fort for our two families and their allies," Oikawa explains.

"Ushiwaka has always had it out for me, always trying to convince me to join his perfect little group of obedient little soldiers. But I always refused, because Ushiwaka only accepts 'the best' as he calls them and looks down upon Non-Magicked and weaker Magicked alike. It's ridiculous, we have bigger problems than each other, yet he decides to send little old Daishou to kidnap you and drop you off at my door. Maybe you were supposed to be an extremely veiled threat? Maybe he wanted to send a message that the Non-Magicked are weak," Iwaizumi's eye twitches in annoyance as Oikawa speaks, but the other doesn't notice, or maybe just decides it's in his best interest not to comment. "I still don't know why Daishou kidnapped you. Either way, you ended up in that forest and just got too close to the magic."

Oikawa clucks his tongue and shakes his head like he's ashamed of Iwaizumi for _being curious_. Curiosity is a part of human nature! But Iwaizumi does kind of belatedly realize maybe he shouldn't have gone to the park in the first place, even if Oikawa is crazy and should not be taken seriously (he's starting to doubt that now though), it was a bit reckless and extremely unlike him.

"You absorbed the magic and whatever inside of you decides what kind of Magicked you are decided that you were to be a shapeshifter, a dog shapeshifter to be more specific," Oikawa states.

"We were going to investigate the magic spot," Kuroo interjects, "but you were already there and the magic was already in you. You're lucky the first one from this century was infused with weaker magic, otherwise it would have torn you apart from the inside out. You going there was extremely dangerous; _magic_ is extremely dangerous."

"It's fascinating," Oikawa says wistfully, ignoring Kuroo completely. "The magic inside of you reflects who you are at your very core. A dog shapeshifter can be seen as someone who is loyal, caring, protective—"

"Aggressive, _overprotective_ , loyal to a fault, easily manipulated," Kuroo interrupts.

"—kind, and strong," Oikawa says, flashing Kuroo a pointed glare for interrupting. "But as Kuroo said, there are some downsides to a dog shapeshifter's personality. You may have had these traits deep down, and they may not have been so obvious, but with the added instincts the magic granted you, these traits will start making a regular appearance in your personality, more so than it usually would. It could possibly make you dangerous, depending on which traits you display more than others. There have been some shapeshifters amongst the Magicked community who have killed other shapeshifters for simply stepping onto their property or even glancing at their spouse. And then, of course, there is the prospect of imprinting, but there is no real proof as to that even existing—"

"But it _might_ ," Kuroo says quieter than before. "And it's dangerous, for the Shifter and the other person involved. It's something all Shifters should be wary of going into this whole shapeshifting thing."

Iwaizumi glances up at Kuroo, who is frowning at the ground like it personally offended him. There's something personal going on there too, but Iwaizumi is kind of afraid to say anything. He notices that Oikawa is looking at Kuroo as well, gnawing on his bottom lip. Everyone is completely silent for a moment before Oikawa clears his throats and moves on like nothing was even said, but Iwaizumi takes into consideration Kuroo's words and thinks that he might search the Internet for information about it when he gets home.

"Anyway, sending a shapeshifter out into the world without any proper training and a form that is not completely developed yet is extremely dangerous for everyone involved. Those of us amongst the Magicked community have kept our magic and abilities a secret from the Non-Magicked since the 1800s, back when so-called 'witches' were being burned at the stake. None of the Magicked are immune to fire, even if that is their natural magic. Well, at least none have been recorded in our record books since we started keeping records of these things. So the only way to kill a Magicked, even if they are immortal—"

_What_? Iwaizumi thinks, recoiling in shock. _Immortal_?

"—is to burn them, which is why fire elementals are both highly regarded and highly feared. But I digress. Back to my original point: you're dangerous right now, that's why Tetsu-chan and I can't let you leave," Oikawa concludes.

Iwaizumi almost gets whiplash with how quickly he moves to look up at Oikawa in shock.

"What?"

Oikawa hums quietly to himself, "I hate to do this, but we can't let you leave. Not to mention, other groups of Magicked may want you in their ranks, so you'll be targeted by anyone who could possibly need another shapeshifter. But who knows what you might do if someone sets you off, you're so untrained that if your other form decides to make an appearance, you might not even be in control."

"I am _not_ going to hurt anyone, and I'm _not_ staying here," Iwaizumi growls, narrowing his eyes, daring Oikawa to oppose. "I _am_ going home."

Oikawa frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but Kuroo reaches forward and puts a hand on the other man's arm to stop him, wrapping his fingers around Oikawa's bicep.

"Let him go, Oikawa. There are already plenty of Shifters running rampant in the streets, what's so special about this one that you can't let him go?" Kuroo asks. "He's only as dangerous as the others born on the street without any training are, and even then, they tend to be _much_ more dangerous than he is. He's like a puppy compared to some of the Shifters I know."

Oikawa opens and closes his mouth a few times like he is unsure of the answer; he kind of reminds Iwaizumi of a fish when he does that. Oikawa straightens and brushes Kuroo's hand off of his upper arm, glaring at Kuroo fiercely.

"Fine," he huffs angrily, "take him home if you want, but when this ends badly you can't blame me for not warning you!"

"I don't know why you're so angry about this," Kuroo says. "He's just another shapeshifter, or is there something else you want to tell me?"

Oikawa's glare somehow manages to grow more threatening, and Iwaizumi is really confused as to what exactly is going on here, because Oikawa has no reason to keep him if others are roaming around too. You know, if Iwaizumi chooses to actually believe Oikawa, which he doesn't believe him, at all.

(He kind of does.)

Oikawa murmurs a few choice words and storms out of the kitchen, which confuses Iwaizumi even more.

"What's his deal?" Iwaizumi asks Kuroo, who shrugs in response.

"You staying or leaving?" Kuroo asks.

Iwaizumi hesitates for a moment, something inside telling him that it would be nice to stay with other people for a while, just until he can figure out if all of this is bullshit or not. But he also needs to sort everything out on his own—figure it out for himself and decide what he does and doesn't believe of this all—and he has plenty of faith in his self control if Oikawa _is_ right.

"Leaving," Iwaizumi answers confidently.

Kuroo nods to himself and opens a drawer next to him, which makes Iwaizumi freeze instantly, but Kuroo just pulls out car keys. Kuroo looks confused for a moment at Iwaizumi's startled expression, but then grins widely.

"Come on, I'll take you to your car. By the way, you need to get that piece of junk fixed up a bit, it barely started last time I took it to your apartment," he comments, shouldering his way past Iwaizumi and down the hall.

This time, Iwaizumi doesn't really have to make a decision of whether to follow Kuroo's lead or not.

(Maybe, maybe he trusts Oikawa and Kuroo, just a little bit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Once again, if you have any questions or want things to be made clearer, just comment and I'll try to respond as soon as I can. Have a good day~ :D


	8. Numbers and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo and Iwaizumi talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna flat out say it: I hate this chapter just a little bit. I mean, it's not like it was a particularly terrible chapter, I just hated writing it so very very much for no apparent reason. But at least it's over now so I can work on the next chapter (which I am hella excited about!!!) Anyways, here's this chapter. I hope you like it (even if I glare at it with the fire of a thousand giant suns)! :D

**Present Day**

The drive to pick up Iwaizumi's car is full of awkward silence. Kuroo keeps glancing at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye like he has something to say, but doesn't quite know how to go about say it. Iwaizumi purses his lips and leans back into the black leather of he passenger seat; he has nothing to say about all of this (how could he when he's not sure what to believe anyway?).

He hasn't ever been one to hate silence—in fact, he usually finds it quite comfortable—but it feels like Kuroo's eyes are burning holes into Iwaizumi's face with the pointed looks he keeps sending him and it makes his skin itch uncomfortably. It's only when Iwaizumi leans back and closes his eyes, hating the squeak of leather when he moves just so, that Kuroo finally decides to burn the blanket of awkwardness that had been thrown over them the moment Iwaizumi saw the sketchy, nondescript black car Kuroo is driving.

"I'm going to take you somewhere before we drop you off at your car, okay?" Kuroo asks.

"No," Iwaizumi says, lips twitching into a frowning and eyes flickering open, "not okay. I thought you were letting me leave? Just take me to my car and I'll be out of your hair."

Kuroo snorts and tightens his grip on the wheel as they take a right.

"As if you'll ever _really_ be out of my hair now. Oikawa doesn't get like that with people he's letting off the hook easily."

"'Letting off the hook?'" Iwaizumi asks, quirking an eyebrow at the man beside him.

"Yeah," Kuroo says, nodding earnestly. "You're the first one he's met that has been turned from Non-Magicked to Magicked by the inscriptions; technically the first one in roughly three thousand years to see the inscriptions. In his eyes, if it wasn't for him you'd be halfway across the city naked in some veterinary clinic. Not to mention, there would be a _giant_ mess for his people to clean up if we hadn't saved your ass in the park. Which, he's right."

"I'm sure I would have been just fine without any intervention on either of your parts," Iwaizumi says cooly folding his arms across his chest defensively.

He glances over to see Kuroo roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Yeah, sure. A magic-charged shapeshifter cop with absolutely no experience and running on pure instincts in unfamiliar territory. Chances are you would have gotten hit by a car or something, and honestly that's one of the better options. I can't imagine what would have happened if you would have stumbled upon Ushiwaka and his cronies. You wouldn't have survived out there on your own."

The words ' _I grew up in this neighborhood, I know how to take care of myself,_ ' play on the tip of Iwaizumi's tongue. He opens his mouth to voice his argument, but Kuroo cuts him off with a wave of his tanned hand, using his other to steer to the side of the road.

"We're here," Kuroo announces.

They had parked alongside the curb by a playground. It's fairly vacant, just a few kids swinging on swing sets and one kid running around with a net. The kid with the net reminds Iwaizumi of a different time and place, one he can't help but remember.

Memories of hunting for beetles in stairwells surfaces, his tiny net swung over his tinier shoulder as he creeps through the vacant hallways. Kaori-san—a woman in her mid sixties who lived in apartment 4-C—stopping to herd him back to his family when he wandered too far away for a five year old. He remembers his mother ruffling his hair affectionately as he shows her his bug collection—mostly beetles, but a few cockroaches and flies too—and a man with spiky, black hair grinning widely with the same smile Iwaizumi possesses when he shows him a shiny, green beetle.

There's another memory that bubbles to the surface though, one not as soft, one with tears and screams and the absence of someone he once loved, but now he can't quite see their face, though he knows he looks just like them. He remembers his mother, bent over their shitty kitchen table as she holds the note her husband left before crumpling it into nothing and lighting it on fire later that night when she thinks he's asleep. ' _What a shitty excuse of a man—of a_ father. _How dare he leave you? You are his_ child _!_ '

Iwaizumi shakes his head, shaking away the feeling wrapping around his chest like a vice. When's the last time he thought about his father? It had to have been years ago, because feeling this shitty doesn't happen often enough for him to really have remembered that asshole too much. It still stings, as much as it did when he was five.

"Hey, Iwaizumi?" Kuroo asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You coming or what?"

Iwaizumi feels shaken now, unreasonably more shaken than he was when he was being held hostage, and all because of what? A kid with a net? Iwaizumi responds to Kuroo with a slow nod, still trying to figure out where all these memories are suddenly surfacing from. He hates the feeling, like he's a pot boiling over, heated by memories of a time he'd rather not remember. Ever.

"Well, come on then," Kuroo says, shutting his car door.

When did Kuroo get out of the car?

Iwaizumi shakes his head to clear it and gets out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him and trailing behind Kuroo when he motions Iwaizumi to follow. Kuroo leads them over to a blue plastic bench with part of the back falling off. Kuroo plops down ungracefully onto the blue plastic and turns to look at something off to the left. Iwaizumi hesitates a moment, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly before deciding to sit down next to Kuroo, who pays him no mind for roughly thirty seconds before speaking up.

"I understand that all of this Shifter stuff is a lot to take in," Kuroo begins, still not looking at Iwaizumi. "I mean, I was the same way when I first shifted. It took me a solid three months before I could even manage to shift back, and by then I was considered dead by any Non-Magicked I knew. I didn't know a lot of people, but my friends shifted back much faster than me—usually within two hours—and it's not like we knew what was happening to us either. They all figured I would stay like that forever, except my best friend, he's the one that stayed with me, even when I went feral. That's been—ugh, I feel super old now—twenty years ago give or take a few years. I think was five when I first shifted."

Kuroo pauses there, still watching the distance, as Iwaizumi gapes at him. Five years old? Iwaizumi can barely process it at _twenty five_ much less _five_. That must have been hard for Kuroo.

"What about your family?" Iwaizumi blurted out before he could stop himself, grimacing when he realized that was said aloud.

Kuroo turns his head just enough to gaze at Iwaizumi curiously with the single gaze of a liquid gold eye.

"I mean," Iwaizumi corrects himself calmly, "you said you were considered dead, so what did your family do?"

Kuroo is silent for a moment, as if pondering something.

"My family... never wanted me anyway. I never knew them. My friends were my family. My best friend—I have a feeling you and him would get along really well—was basically like my mom since I was old enough to know what a mom was. We were together for... fifteen years?" Kuroo answers, tapping his fingers distractingly on his thigh as he speaks.

"What happened to you two?" Iwaizumi pries.

Kuroo lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his unruly black hair, then runs his hand down his face.

"We stopped being friends," Kuroo finally answers vaguely.

Iwaizumi can sense that this is a sensitive topic, so he chooses to bite down the _why?_ threatening to spill from his lips. Iwaizumi instead chooses to focus on the kids swinging on the old swing set off in the direction Kuroo is looking.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Iwaizumi asks after a few minutes.

"To convince you that maybe you should consider giving Oikawa and his whole conspiracy theory thing a chance," Kuroo says flatly, finally turning to face Iwaizumi. "I know it's a lot right now, but you have time to decide what you believe. Despite what Oikawa says, Ushiwaka and his followers won't come after you right away. Both Ushiwaka and Oikawa are scrambling to find the approximate time and location of the next series of inscriptions, so you have a few weeks before shit really starts hitting the fan."

"Why do you even believe this all anyway? How do you know all of this is true?" Iwaizumi asks.

Kuroo hums in thought before answering.

"Oikawa knows people, one who's older than most anything that even exists on this planet. Plus I've seen it all will my own eyes, the magic and the shifting and the star charts. It's difficult at first because you immediately want to think 'This could never happen to me!' but it can, and it did. Either way, nobody expects you to process this all immediately—except maybe Oikawa, but he grew up with it."

Kuroo pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Iwaizumi. It's a set of random numbers, but... Iwaizumi thinks it's a phone number? Why is Kuroo giving him his number?

"In case something happens or you have questions," Kuroo explains with an earnest expression painted across his features.

"Do you always have random pieces of paper with your phone number on it?" Iwaizumi asks, half joking but still partially wanting to know the answer.

Kuroo decides to take it as a joke and laughs, eyes crinkling and mouth curling up into a grin, his expression settling on a sly smile.

"Maybe I do," Kuroo grins.

Iwaizumi pockets the paper and stands, finally done fighting down his ever growing impatience.

"Thanks for your number and the pep talk, but can we go get my car yet?" Iwaizumi asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

"Ah, of course," Kuroo says, waving his hand airily in a way that kind of reminds Iwaizumi of Oikawa.

The drive to Iwaizumi's car is surprisingly short—honestly he could have walked there with no trouble at all. It was a two minute drive at the most.

Iwaizumi's car is thankfully right where he remembers leaving it: at the park. Iwaizumi moves to get out, but Kuroo wraps his fingers around Iwaizumi's forearm before he can leave.

"Oikawa's a good guy, you know. If you ever decided you wanted to not be a cop anymore then I'm sure he'd let you stay at his place and work for him like I do. We could always use more shapeshifters. For all of his quirks, Oikawa would take you in if you really needed it with no questions asked. If you run into any other group of Magicked or need anything at all, or even if you just have some questions, seriously call me. I wasn't lying when I said there was a lot of Shifters out on the streets. It's dangerous, and quite frankly you seem like a good guy and a valuable asset to Oikawa, so try not to get yourself captured or killed, alright?"

Iwaizumi nods dumbly after Kuroo's little speech, and after a beat Kuroo lets his grip on Iwaizumi loosen and then slip away completely. He shuts the car door and walks towards his car, not looking back as Kuroo drives away and hopefully out of Iwaizumi's life forever.

Sadly, Iwaizumi knows he has never been particularly lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~  
> I hope you enjoyed it! :D


	9. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa Tooru is _in control ___.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Here's the chapter!  
> Also titled- Why the Fuck Do I Use So Many Italics: An Autobiography  
> By the way there are some mentions of what possibly could be considered depression so like, this is a warning? I think? Who knows tbh. I hope you enjoy it! :D

**9 Days Later, Present Day**

Oikawa Tooru is _in control_.

"Tetsu," Oikawa says flatly, his mouth settling into a serious and grim line. "Just trust me, okay?"

"You fucking little piece of shit," Kuroo growls on the other end of the phone. "We've literally been keeping tabs on him for _six_ _straight days_. He's not going to work for you, you idiot! It's borderline stalking by now! Honestly I'm surprised he hasn't _noticed_ us yet. He _is_ a cop, you know, he'll figure it out eventually."

"Just a few more days," Oikawa whines into the phone, propping it up between his shoulder and his ear as he digs through his father's bedroom desk. "I'm sure he'll come around."

" _Oikawa_ ," Kuroo says pointedly.

Oikawa can basically hear the pointed raising of Kuroo's eyebrows, can see the look etched into the other's tan complexion. Oikawa can hear a soft voice from Kuroo's end and a mention of his own name. After a moment of silence Oikawa narrows his eyes and hisses a frustrated breath into the phone.

" _Ken-chan_!" he whines. "Tetsu-chan is being mean to me!"

"Tooru," Kenma says quietly, "Kuro is right. You're being a bit stalker-ish."

Oikawa's eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he practically crushes his cellphone in his grip. He's _not_ stalking Cop-chan. But just to be sure Kuroo keeps that opinion to himself instead of sharing it with everyone else...

"Hey Ken-chan," he purrs poisonously. "Did I ever tell you how I met Tetsu-chan?"

There's a shout of ' _you bastard_!' and some rustling around before Kuroo's reclaimed possession of the phone once more.

"Oh hello again, Tetsu," Oikawa chirps happily.

"Not a word, shithead."

"So, we're staying out and following Cop-chan, aren't we?" Oikawa says gleefully.

"You're an ass."

"Make sure to drive safe!"

"Fuck you too, you asshole."

Oikawa ends the call with a gleeful laugh that runs along the border of being an evil cackle. He stops digging through desk drawers for a moment to toss his cellphone back on to his father's unused bed. He bends down again and dutifully goes about his searching once more. He's looking for an old leather journal containing literally _any_ clue about how to go about getting his father's phone number. The man has switched it so many times it's almost impossible to get in contact with him unless he's in the next room over—which he almost never is.

Oikawa huffs out a sigh of relief as his fingers brush over the familiar feel of leather that should have probably been thrown out by now. He grabs the journal and sits down on on his father's bed, running his hand over the plain cover.

The first page is filled with dozens of random combinations of numbers and letters that Oikawa recognizes as coordinates; he knows that it's all the places his father has lived, preferring to have the coordinates saved rather than the addresses. All are crossed out, the cause of each move symbolized by color of pen it was crossed out in. Most were black—magic related attack—and the others mostly blue—non-magic related attack, typically police or other government systems that were aware of the Magicked community.

Then, of course, there was one. Halfway down the page, marked out in red ink, lay the coordinates. That was back, way back, when Oikawa only knew of the wonder and beauty of magic and nothing of the pain and suffering it caused. Magic back then was all light and warmth and dancing in the kitchen, but that was abruptly stolen from him and replaced with anger and fear and deep-seated psychological issues he'd rather not think about too much.

Red was bad, very bad. Red meant death.

Oikawa flips to another page, further back amongst the hundreds of phone numbers stashed away in the journal. Each of the numbers are marked out, some newly added just from a few years ago. Hopefully his father remembered to write down his newest number when he left.

Oikawa flips a few more pages until he finds the one that is only half filled. With a hopeful feeling in his chest, Oikawa scoops up his phone from the bed next to him and dials the most recent number on the page, the only one not marked out.

A breath hitches in his chest as he brings the phone up to his ear.

_"The number you have called has been discontinued from—"_

Oikawa chucks the journal in the general vicinity of the desk, a few loose papers fluttering to the ground on impact. A burning concoction of anger and frustration smolders in his chest and behind his eyes, his hands tingling with enough pent up energy to burn down the entire house plus a few of the neighboring ones.

He lets himself fall back to lay on his back atop the bed, eyes glaring holes in the pristine white ceiling. One hand is curled around his phone with enough force to crush it in his palm, the other clutching the blanket beside him just as tightly. His whole body burns angrily and he feels like someone's set a vengeful fire in his chest, but he somehow manages to steady his breathing through gritted teeth and slowly relax his death grip on his phone.

His father couldn't have gone one damn week without changing his fucking number. It's not like he is in the same god damn city as his father either, _no_ , the elder Oikawa is in fucking _America_. And of course it's not like a son would need his father or anything, right? It's not like Oikawa can't figure out where the _fuck_ the next series of inscriptions are, right?

Oikawa lets his hold slip from his phone completely, instead reaching up to rub at his aching forehead. Fuck. How is he supposed to know where to go? When to leave? What to expect?

He supposes there may be some sort of indication of the next inscription's whereabouts in his father's notes, but all of those were safely stashed away in the locked drawer in the fancy oaken desk in his father's study. Of course, his paranoid father locked the drawer with a key locked in a safe hidden somewhere in the house that Oikawa had never been able to find.

It was probably under the liquor cabinet, considering that's where his father spent most of his time—when he was even around, that is.

Oikawa snorts at that thought and rolls onto his side, careful to move his phone for fear of crushing it under his weight. He curls up into a ball, his knees tucked up against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. He's had that peculiar habit since he was young; his mother nicknamed him Rolly Polley because of how tightly he would curl up, just like the Armadillidiidae bugs that he loved to play with. He liked to poke at them with a stick—because poking them with his finger was yucky—and watch as they curled up into a tight ball.

The thought of his mother eased the ever-growing anger in his chest, eased the frustration building up within him. If she was here, she'd tell him to go with his gut. She'd ruffle his hair affectionately and tell him that it was in his blood to follow his instincts, that he wasn't like his father in that aspect. His father needed definitive data, he only needed a possible idea that he would make bloom into something solid, just like she always did.

_The map_ , he realizes with a start.

He practically throws himself off the bed as the realization hits him. Of _course_. The map was just a rough draft, an estimated estimate, but it was _enough_. He sprints downstairs and throws open the door to his father's study, brown eyes flickering over the various star charts and maps that fill the walls.

There's one map folded seamlessly on the desk, that's the one he needs. He unfolds it and smooths away the crinkles in the paper, leaning forward to squint at the markings (he really should have grabbed his glasses first). Instead of running to get his glasses, he grabs the magnifying glass in the top desk drawer—it's the only drawer not locked, considering all it held was a few paper clips, two or three pens, and said magnifying glass—and investigates the markings, looking for all of the possible blue ones.

Blue marked the lowest level of magic released from the inscriptions—as most of the inscriptions would be classified as—while green, yellow, and red signified higher levels of magic. It was still extremely early for reds, greens, or yellows to pop up, so he was looking for a blue one, somewhere on the east side of town if his own calculations were correct.

There were four blue dots on the right side of the map: one near what was marked on the map as a strip club (which he finds odd), one near a grocery store in the same general area as the strip club, one near what was marked as an vacant apartment complex, and one which was marked as an abandoned factory that Oikawa remembered used to make plastic cups for some big corporation.

Oikawa gnaws on his lip in thought. Sure, all four were good possibilities, but even Oikawa knew the inscriptions were all about symmetry, which is why the inscriptions _should_ alternate between east and west with alternating coordinates, but no one could prove it for sure. Either way, Oikawa needed to find the site of the next inscription before Ushijima did, and most of his father's more recent calculations pointed to the inscriptions appearing sometime today or tomorrow.

The only problem was, the park—though small—was still large enough to be technically opposite of both the vacant apartment complex _and_ the abandoned factory. The apartment building seemed the most likely considering it was the most opposite of the park... but something about the abandoned factory stood out to him.

As he tries to decipher which place he should go to, he recalls the bedtime stories his mom used to tell him about what ancient fire elementals used to do with maps. The fire elementals used their magic to burn their maps and the last part of the map to catch fire was the place with the most magic. It was probably a bunch of bullshit, but either way Oikawa had never had enough control to try that, not now and not ever.

His magic is just as erratic as it always has been.

He sighs deeply and tugs a hand through his hair, letting his palm rest atop his head. Logic pointed to the apartment complex, but he still wanted to check out the factory despite everything pointing to the apartments.

Screw it, he was going to the factory.

Oikawa hurries to grab his coat and shoes, silently pondering whether or not he should bring a knife or two with him. He would have grabbed his father's pistol, but everyone with a partially functioning brain knows guns are fairly useless against most of the Magicked on Ushijima's side; the only one a gun would possibly work against would be Daishou, and that's if Daishou didn't get to you first.

Oikawa slips two of Kuroo's fillet knives into his jacket just in case, hoping the other won't go looking for them anytime soon.

He almost considers calling Kuroo and Kenma to tell them where he will be, but the stubborn portion of his consciousness (which consists of most of it, honestly) knows he can protect himself if something were to happen. If he calls, he'll just be worrying Kuroo and Kenma unnecessarily, or worse, they'll come to help him and poor Cop-chan would be left defenseless from whoever or whatever other Magicked might send his way.

Oikawa decides to take the bus to the east side, cramming himself between a suspicious-looking woman with brass knuckles and an elderly man with really bushy eyebrows. The whole bus smells of body odor (or is that just the old man beside him?) and of rotten eggs, he notices as he shifts to avoid bumping into the woman next to him as the bus takes a sharp turn.

Oikawa despises taking the bus, but what must be done is done. Despite the smell and awkwardness of unfamiliar people pressing against each other uncomfortably, it's way better than him attempting to drive and ending up crashing into a school or something. What a way to go, much better than half of the ways most Magicked end up dead. Honestly it's surprising how few of them make it past thirty years old.

Especially fire elementals.

Oikawa disembarks the bus a few blocks away from the factory. He knows it looks incredibly sketchy being dropped off in the middle of an empty parking lot filled with uneven sections of gravel, but at least it's less sketchy than getting off the bus at the abandoned factory in the middle of the day.

He's on edge the entire three block trek from the parking lot to the factory. He's not used to going into creepy places alone, in fact, he's _never_ gone out of each of the various small suburban neighborhoods he's lived in through the years on his own (a part of his father's ridiculous precautions). Well, there's a first time for everything he supposes.

The factory looks as if it's straight out of a really low quality horror movie, for the record. The building looks like it's a hundred years old; the windows are either smashed in or boarded up, the door has a padlock on it, and the concrete sides of the building seem to be crumbling. Oikawa's inner horror-movie enthusiast whispers that they were trying to keep either something out with that creepy padlock—or the more disturbing—trying to keep something _in_.

There's a rustling noise to Oikawa's right as he gets within a few feet of the door, making him squeak in fear and draw his knives from his pockets. A crow—normal black color that shimmers in the sunlight with strange blue eyes—squawks at him before taking flight out of the smashed-in window.

He's _totally_ not freaked out. Who would even get that impression? Oikawa Tooru is _not_ scared at _all_.

Oikawa brings a hand up to his chest, feeling the erratic beating of his heart. He knows he needs to calm down or he's going to set the whole place up into a blaze before he can even see if there is an inscription there or not. After forcing himself to take a few calming breaths—it's more like hyperventilating—he pokes his head fearlessly through the area that used to occupy a glass window.

The inside of the factory is slightly less creepy, but only slightly.

Dozens of boxes are stacked up upon each other with creepy smiley faces on the side. If that was the company's logo, then no wonder the factory went out of business because Oikawa thought those smiling faces were disturbing as fuck. The floors were like the walls—completely cement—and there was a shit ton of papers fluttering around inside. There was the occasional pile of loose wooden boards as well.

Yeah, Oikawa couldn't lose his cool here, this place would be lit up like a furnace in seconds if he did. This whole place was like the world's most creepy tinderbox, just waiting for him to have a meltdown and burn everything inside.

Oikawa maneuvers himself inside the factory through the window, gingerly avoiding bird droppings and the shards of glass scattered along the cement around the window and on the floor directly beneath it. He brushes off his pants after he's made it safely inside the building out of habit. Maybe he shouldn't have worn such a nice pair of pants?

The building isn't so creepy now that he's inside, the only highly disturbing part is those damn smiley faces and the way the boards across shattered windows cast eery shadows over almost everything. Well, good thing Oikawa was prepared and brought his flashli—

"Fuck," Oikawa whispers passionately to himself, patting his pockets in disbelief.

He doesn't even have his phone to use as a light either.

"I guess this is going to be done the old fashioned way then," Oikawa murmurs to himself as he begins investigating the inside of the factory.

He begins his investigation with looking at the walls, since his father said most inscriptions tended to be above the ground like on trees or walls and the like. Oikawa makes it halfway through his search of the building before his metaphorical sixth sense starts tingling, as if he's being watched.

His hands shake as he pulls out his knives, but he keeps his head held high and confident, even though his whole body is starting to sweat and he's practically vibrating in place. He really, really needs to calm down even if someone is there. He's been hiding his carefully guarded secret since he was ten—fifteen, almost sixteen, years. If someone _is_ here, he can't let his magic escape his control.

There's a crash of boxes falling behind him, and his body reacts before his mind can even begin to process what's happening. He spins around, his hands out in front of him defensively as something in his chest twists painfully before a burst of fire stretches outward. Flames lick at the newcomer, who barely manages to halt the fire in its tracks with a powerful gust of wind that ruffles both Oikawa and his own blonde with black tipped hair. Oikawa stares at the man before recognizing him almost immediately; Semi Eita, Non-Typical, and control over weather his brain mechanically supplies.

A rumble of thunder is all Oikawa hears before he's diving into piles upon piles of cardboard boxes as the spot he was previously standing in is struck by a bolt of lightning. Every box Oikawa's hands touch are set ablaze, burning around him like a funeral pyre.

_They can't find out. They can't find out_ , he chants as he scrambles forward over boxes.

Rain pours down upon him, but it's not enough to stop the fire that's been set upon them. The bitter smell of smoke fills Oikawa's nose, burning the inside of his lungs unpleasantly. He manages to crawl out of the mess of boxes without his cover being blown, which is good. What's bad though is that Semi is waiting for him as he crawls out the other side, which startles him enough for a ball of fire to come hurtling at Semi from the pile of burning boxes.

Semi deflects the inferno with another gust of wind that quickly morphs into a spinning whirlwind of embers and boxes; he's created himself a tornado. Oikawa instinctively reaches into the depths of the heat flickering in his chest, drawing more magic from inside himself. Fiery hands descend upon Semi and his shield of wind with a vengeance, tearing apart anything solid that stands between the flames and the other man.

The flaming hands morph into birds that swoop down of wings of orange and red, diving down to meet Semi head-on, their purpose to drive forward like a lance to penetrate Semi's defenses. He barely manages to catch the fiery birds as they dive with the wind once more, but this time he's pushed back against the wall with a loud _thud_ that rattles the foundations of the factory.

Fire assaults Semi from all sides and the man barely manages to hold off the blaze with his own magic.

"Oikawa," he calls out through gritted teeth, "stop this!"

Oikawa wishes he could, but he's scared, he's sweating uncontrollably and he knows at any moment he's going to lose full control (as if he hasn't already, he thinks bitterly), but he doesn't want to hurt Semi and it scares him even more that he might hurt another person more than being torn apart by lightning and wind does.

He stumbles back, the flames flickering from an orange color to a light blue, like it's feasting on his fear of himself. Oikawa watches helplessly as Semi forces the wind to direct his fire back at him, and all he can do is curl in on himself as he's forced back into the pile of burning cardboard and tinder by gale force winds. What remains of the cardboard and wood digs into his skin, leaving fresh cuts to drip blood onto the inferno that hisses like angry felines when the red, sticky liquid drops down from Oikawa's fair skin.

Fire swirls around him in Semi's makeshift tornado and he watches with wide eyes as his clothes crumple to ashes within seconds, yet all he feels is an unpleasant tingling where his skin catches fire and the chilling ache that squeezes his chest. Magic pours out of him like he's a water bottle tipped on his side, unable to stop the flow. He curls up tighter, squeezing his eyes shut as he wraps his arms around his knees, sitting there for what feels like no time at all but also eternity as he is wrung dry of his magic.

_Rolly Polley, Rolley Polley! I'm home_ , a woman's voice sings in his head. He can hear the click of the lock on the door, the padding of her feet as she approaches.

_I missed you, pumpkin! Where's Mei? She's supposed to be watching you_ , the voice says.

The fire completely leaves him, cold now biting into his bare skin like he's never felt warmth a day in his life.

Then it's his father, voice as cold as ice as Oikawa lets out a shaky sob of pain, scratching feebly at his chest, leaving blood and skin engrained into his nails.

_You can't tell anyone. They'll kill you, Tooru. It's probably why they killed them, to get to you. You're a freak amongst freaks, and if you use your powers again, I'll beat you within an inch of your life, you hear me? You shouldn't even be alive. What kind of Magicked is immune to fire? You should have been the one to die, not them, I loved them_.

Tears rolls down Oikawa's cheeks, leaving little trails of frost like scars. His eyelids crack open to reveal the soft and delicate brown of his irises, breath creating little puffs of frost in front of him.

His nails scratch down his arms, leaving red welts along the scratches that bleed crimson; his father was right, he's a freak, he shouldn't be alive.

He turns his gaze up to Semi, who is looming over Oikawa in a fearful way that's not at all confident, eyes wide with shock. He's ruined everything by coming here, he thinks with a shiver. He's a failure, he's failed all of them.

Fire burns around Semi, pushed away just far enough for the flames to not touch the man. He sets his mouth into a grim expression before turning to walk away, leaving Oikawa burning on the ground in a pile of ash that sticks to his skin like a cloak.

Oikawa's chest clenches painfully as the last of his magic drains from him. He's freezing even though flames flicker over his pale skin. He feels as if every bit of warmth in the world has drained from his body, his limbs feel like they're freezing to the ground.

He's in control, he thinks as blood drips from his nose and onto the smoldering ashes around him. His very bones ache with a chill, his fingers curling helplessly into the ashes around him. How is he supposed to get home? Will he die here? No magic, no warmth, no life? More tears stream down the side of his face and hiss as they meet the embers beneath him that press tingling bits of fire into his skin, but he does not burn.

Oikawa Tooru is _in control_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you say anything:  
> I know I was mean to Oikawa, I have already put myself in the Writer's Box of Shame™ until sunrise tomorrow. I apologize to Oikawa, my precious son.  
> Also: In case I didn't make it clear enough, there is certain consequences for using too much magic/using magic at all in this story. Typically it's something like extreme headaches, bloody noses (as referenced earilier in the chapter), and in extreme cases even as severe as a coma. Oikawa's magic, seeing as it is kind of unique in its type, has a different type of consequence revolving around temperature change (i.e. when Oikawa gets too emotional the air around him increases in temperature or when he uses too much magic it drops his body temperature and the air around him turns freezing).   
> Well, I hoped you liked reading this! Have a nice day! :D


	10. Unlucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi is too unlucky to stay out of weird situations for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I'm really sorry that this took SO LONG. My apologies for that. Also: thanks for staying with this fic for so long! I really appreciate your dedication! Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

**Present Day**

Iwaizumi groans in frustration as he sifts through the numerous mounds of paperwork that has accumulated on his desk over the short time that he had been gone, yet despite being back for a little over one week, he still wasn't even close to being caught up on everything.

Irihata-san had had many questions about where Iwaizumi had been in the past few days—and rightfully so, he'd disappeared without a trace. His excuse had been a really bad strain of the flu and a broken phone because how was he supposed to explain what had _really_ happened (if it had happened at all, he still wasn't exactly sure if he had imagined it all after a really bad concussion or not).

Despite the fact that's he's been back for eight days—nine now—Irihata-san still would occasionally peer out of his office and glance in Iwaizumi's direction, as if he was checking to make sure he hadn't jumped ship again. Honestly ditching work and going back to his apartment sounded like an extraordinarily good idea as of right now, considering a headache had been brewing behind his forehead all day. It felt like someone was sticking tiny pins into his skull, occasionally some of those hypothetical pins being more fearsome than others.

He shakes his head and rubs at his temples when the ache increases into a ferocious stabbing sensation.

"A-Are you alright, Iwaizumi-san?" Yachi asks from her desk, biting her lip in a way that shows her anxiety.

That manages to startle him out of his reverie, and he looks up at her, confusion clouding his features.

"Yes?" Iwaizumi says.

Obviously she feels that this is not the truth, seeing as she fiddles with her fingers at her desk and blushes fiercely before speaking up once more.

"W-Well you seem s-sort of... out of it? A-And you've been s-staring at n-nothing f-for a w-while now?" she stammers out.

Iwaizumi frowns slightly and glances at the clock on the far wall, noting she was indeed correct; it _had_ been nearly ten minutes. Weird. He didn't remember sitting there for that long. Maybe he _did_ have a concussion.

"My apologies, Yachi-kun," he says dismissively.

He attempts to resume his work, but the ticking of the clock is driving him _insane_. It's like it's beating inside his skull even though it's a half a room away. Iwaizumi closes his eyes once more and rubs at his eyelids until he sees colorful spots dance around. The ticking of the clock only intensifies as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

A cold sensation runs up and down his arms and he feels as if he's pushed forward by an invisible force at his desk. Blood pounds in his ears as the sensation causes the hair to raise up on the back of his neck. Everything feels shaky and barely there, like if he wanted to sink through his chair and fall back into nothingness, he could.

Iwaizumi feels something brush across his neck and ear, it's warm yet cold at the same time, almost like a breath. He wants to flinch away, but he's stuck in place, unbreathing and without a single trace of movement. It feels as if he's been stuck in plaster, like the real world is just beyond his skin and all he has to do is break through it.

A delicate touch brushes across his arm, which is still tense and unmoving. His eyes don't have to be open to know that the skin touching his own is pale and smooth and warm to the touch, fingers dancing across his forearm in a way that feels real and unreal simultaneously. The forceful, chilled sensation rushes through him again, like something's being pushed through one side of his body and out the other, but this time it's accompanied by a voice, indistinguishable in gender.

_Find me_ , it says hauntingly.

A high pitched and chirpy laugh follows it, filled with gleeful malice as if it enjoys seeing Iwaizumi shiver. As the laugh fades, it feels as if he's snapped (more like _thrown_ ) back into his body, like a rubber band that's been pulled too tight.

"Iwaizumi-san?" Yachi asks, fear evident in her voice.

Iwaizumi is scrambling from his desk with surprising speed considering he felt paralyzed a moment before. He murmurs something about _flu_ before stumbling into the mens' restroom (thankfully, his desk was fairly close so he didn't have to stumble like a drunkard for very long).

To his immense relief, he is the only one who would dare enter the public bathroom (half the time there were rats, the other half cockroaches scurried across the floor). Right now though cockroaches and rats weren't exactly his main concern.

He practically falls into one of the sinks as he struggles to turn on the cold water. The icy chill feels good against his skin, like his body has been secretly overheating when he wasn't paying attention. A sigh shudders out of his body as the cold water pools in his cupped hands and, when brought up to his face, runs down his skin in little droplets that glimmer translucent in the dim lighting.

Iwaizumi glances up at the sink mirror in front of him, eyes flickering to the water that leaves tracks down his face, which draws his attention to the sharp jut of his teeth where he supposes a predator's canines would go. He brings one of his hands up to brush a fingertip over one of the abnormal teeth, which is sharp to the touch.

The realization hits him out of the blue, probably later than it should have, but his brain chooses that moment to accept what he's been told.

_'Dog shapeshifter'_

_'The Magicked'_

_...This is real_.

Iwaizumi blinks dumbly at his reflection in the smudgy mirror, finger running over the tooth like he's mesmerized by it (maybe he is). Out of all the things to happen and be explained to him, this is the most real thing yet. And thought he hates to admit it, it does look like a... _dog's_ canine. It reminds him of one of the police dog's teeth, sharp enough to kill but not as defined as he imagines a wolf's tooth would be.

Despite the fact that cold droplets are drying on his tanned skin, despite the fact that he can still hear the ticking of the clock echoing in his head, despite the fact that he feels woozy—like he's going to fall over any second—he feels as if this is the clearest he's seen things since he was kidnapped by that Daishou guy.

Okay, this was real. Maybe not all of it, but something was definitely not right about his teeth and whatever just happened back at his desk.

Should he call Kuroo?

He shakes his head as an answer to himself in the mirror, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. For one, the only phone he had with him currently was the old corded phone attached to his desk. And secondly, he had promised himself he wasn't going to call Kuroo or Oikawa. He didn't need their help. But even if he didn't want to call Kuroo, how was Iwaizumi going to make it out of here anyway when his legs shook visibly like a newborn foal just beginning to take its first steps?

His clarity of thought lasted for about thirty seconds more before Iwaizumi is hit with another wave of dizziness. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on taking deep breaths—maybe he _does_ have the flu, or maybe this is a side effect from... whatever is going on with his head today. His hands clutch at the sink as if it's his lifeline, and he almost thinks he feels the sink cracking under his fingertips, but that's impossible, he's nowhere near strong enough to do that.

The dizziness fades with time, slowly leaving until his knees stop shaking and his hands are no longer clutching the sink like it's his lifeline. He cracks open his eyes and focuses on a blurry spot in the mirror. Iwaizumi reaches up and wipes at the smudge with the pad of his thumb. All he manages to do is smear a thumbprint across it, and he silently apologizes to whoever cleans this place— _if_ they clean this place.

He slowly removes his hands from their death grip on the sink, and thankfully it seems the dizziness wasn't a prequel to him passing out or something equally embarrassing. Iwaizumi turns to make his wobbly trek back to his desk, and hopefully he can pass off this... thing as a return of the flu.

He gets so close to the bathroom door—his hand even is on the door handle—before he's stopped. By a hand. On his shoulder. When he had been alone.

Iwaizumi swallows thickly and glances at the hand out of the corner of his eye; it's covered in black liquid—is _made_ of it—and leads up to an arm covered in a type of cloth he's never seen before (its black, but not like any color of it he's seen before, it's almost as if it's made of the same stuff shadows are made of, which isn't the weirdest thing that's happened to him today).

"What-" Iwaizumi clears his throat and tries again, "Who are you?"

At that he's slammed back against the wall of the bathroom, eyes blown wide in shock. The force of the hit leaves his head spinning and his ears ringing, but he shakes off the feeling and—against what he knows is his better judgement—punches the _thing_ right where he assumes it's face is.

It stumbles back, a liquid hand coming up to touch its hooded features in shock. Iwaizumi takes this moment to bolt for the door only a precious few steps away. A growl comes from the hooded creature and something cold wraps around Iwaizumi's leg. He's yanked back from the door and thrown across the bathroom and against the far wall. He clenches his jaw in pain and curls his hands into fists, bringing them up to defend himself.

The creature walks forward slowly and in an unsure manner than surprises him, is the creature really cautious of _him_? Iwaizumi lunges forward again, trying to grasp at the creature's shoulders, but instead he ends up getting a fistful of the dark fabric adorning the thing. The fabric-like substance disappears beneath his fingertips, shimmering gold before it crumbles away from what Iwaizumi can confidently say is the thing's face.

It's... human?

No, that's not the right word. It might have been human at one point, but, from Iwaizumi experiences in the past two weeks, it probably is some sort of magicked creature.

It's face, previously hidden, looks human—a man. Well, half of it looks human. The other half of its—his?—face is covered completely in what Iwaizumi can only assume are black feathers that shimmer greens and blue at the right angle. The feathers seem to start at his bangs, which hang just above his eyes, and appear to barely miss covering his nose, yet the feathers avoid his mouth, instead they seem to swoop down his neck and disappear into the folds of his cloak.

Despite the feathers, the oddest part about him is his eyes; dark blue like the furthest depths of the ocean. His eyes seem familiar, but Iwaizumi can't exactly place where he knows this creature from.

The creature pulls his thin lips into what Iwaizumi thinks might be a very poor impression of a smile, but quite honestly it's a bit terrifying. The man-creature glides across the floor and over to Iwaizumi, whose eyes frantically search for a way out of this situation.

What even was this thing? Where did it come from? Why was it here? None of those questions really matter if he kills Iwaizumi, though.

Iwaizumi watches helplessly as the creature brings a hand up to his face, a liquid hand brushing across his skin. He flinches away from the sensation, which is cold and slimy like a frog would be. The creature moves closer, as if reassured Iwaizumi was not going to punch it in the face again. The man-creature brings up his other hand to rest on he other side of Iwaizumi's face and gradually moves his hands up to rest on Iwaizumi's temples on either side of his head.

Iwaizumi remains frozen in place and just stares at the creature wordlessly, green eyes blown wide with fear. He couldn't move an inch if he tried, boxed in by the both his fear and the creature whose sapphire eyes search his own for something unbeknownst to him. Both him and the creature still, barely even breathing.

And for a moment, just a split second, Iwaizumi hears it.

It sounds like footsteps drumming in his ears, like blood pouring onto a flame, like fingernails scratching deep into skin, like the soft, anguished cry of a loved one.

Iwaizumi's chest feels tight, like invisible hands are squeezing at his heart as a punishment for a crime he didn't commit.

The creature exhales heavily and steps back, as if to say his work was done, and stares at Iwaizumi for a moment, who can't find anything to say or do except stare back. He watches as the creature waves his hand in front of him, dark mist pouring out of his hands like a thick and heavy smoke.

_Find him._

Iwaizumi's breath hitches in his throat. The words resonate everywhere; it feels as if the words find their way into every crevice of his brain and creep their way into his bones, echoing throughout his world.

He blinks, and the smoke is gone as well as the words ringing in his body, but the tightness in his chest and the sense of urgency stays. His whole body shakes as he makes his way out of the bathroom and back to his desk on unsteady feet, trying not to trip and fall over his own feet. Yachi looks at him as if she's seen a ghost, but Iwaizumi couldn't care less at the moment.

Iwaizumi grabs his desk phone—usually reserved for work calls—and shakily presses the number he had previously thought he wouldn't ever call. After a few rings, a click can be heard from the other end of the line, signaling the other had picked up the call.

"This is Kuroo," the other man answers calmly.

"Kuroo," Iwaizumi says, clearing his throat awkwardly, "I think I'm ready to talk."

Well, at least he didn't feel so dizzy anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~ I hope you liked it! :D


	11. For Better or for Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo meets someone who is annoying, has an extremely obnoxious laugh, and has really bad fashion sense. And he's kind of stuck with him, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~  
> So, new week, new update, even though it's directly after the other one. Hopefully this makes up for not updating for so long and what I'm going to explain next. Okay, so bad news: the update after this one is going to probably be posted sometime late next week. Why? Because I know that while I have been excited for the chapter, it's going to be a pain in the ass for me to write. While I have everything planned out, plans change and I've changed what I've planned to do for the next chapter quite a bit (the last update, this update, and the next update didn't really flow well together so I had to change the order and a few details that makes my life a pain). So, I'm sorry in advance, don't hate me! Anyway, I hope you like reading this chapter here! Enjoy! :D

**April 12, 2006 AD**

Today is a nice day, fifteen year old Kuroo Tetsurou decides. There's a nice breeze that rustles through the leafy trees of the suburban Tokyo town. There's the laughter of children floating through the air along the pristine sidewalks. There's a family out walking their two golden retriever dogs, both with collars that jingle when they frost along.

There's a mom—probably a classy stay-at-home mother who goes to all of her kids' soccer practices and goes to all the parent teacher conferences as well; a dad too—probably the kind that worked really hard during the week to provide for his family, and when he got the chance, he probably joined his wife at those soccer games and bake sales; a little girl with pigtails—probably in grade school with two real best friends that will stick with her the rest of her life and a dream of becoming a veterinarian when she gets older; a young boy as well—probably fairly good at baseball, maybe he'll become a star when he's older, but for now he dreams of becoming a fireman, because that's what his uncle does for a living.

He watches the family pass from where he's seated on a bench, surveying everyone who passes by, trying not to envy them too much.

It's been nearly two years since he has been in this area and on his way to his beloved's house he had gotten lost, so he decided to plop down on a park bench and await the arrival of his beloved. The family passes him by without a second glance, probably thinking he's some kind of trouble maker that goes to the local junior high school and definitely not worth their time.

Kuroo likes being invisible to those without shapeshifter senses, but also... he despises it.

He leans back and stretches his arms behind his head, still watching for the man he loves. Kuroo _knows_ it's ridiculous, but he's in love, he has been since he first met that lovely creature who called himself Kenma. It's definitely ridiculous, but he hasn't been able to stop thinking about him since their nearly identical pairs of golden eyes met when he was six—one of his first good memories.

Kuroo had been stuck in his other form—which happened sometimes when he was younger—and had stepped on a shard of glass, injuring him badly enough that he couldn't find his way back to the others. That was back before he had been tamed, back when he was still as wild as the forest he lived in. Back then, he wasn't just some scruffy alley cat, he was a panther. Wild, free, beautiful, without a care in the world. Back then life had been much simpler, and a lot lonelier too.

But then he had met Kenma, who was roughly four or five (his best guess at least) when they met.The young boy, despite his age, had somehow managed to acquire the kind of childish wisdom that most kids don't possess. Kenma had not thrown rocks at him, screamed when he came near, tried to capture him in a bug net (yes he was a kitten still, but even then he was not _that_ small). Instead, Kenma had taken him to his parents—when they got home that is—and had his father (or mother? He couldn't remember) take out the glass and disinfect the paw.

That first night that he had curled up in Kenma's warm bed, purring contentedly against the other's leg had been the night that It happened. The smell, the sight, the sound. It had been something indescribably beautiful. He knew now only that it marked Kenma his so that no other could claim the boy their own. That was also the night he had stopped being completely panther and had gained the ability to switch back from ferocious predator to tame little alley cat.

He had a feeling that Kenma was the key to his ability to switch back and forth.

Either way, it had been two years since Kuroo had even been in the country and now that he... made his choice... he had saved up money to make the flight back here and hopefully stay in Japan for a few years at least. Now that he was back though he had a job to do: he needed to find Kenma and make sure he was still safe and where Kuroo had left him, wherever that was.

He knew from experience that Kenma liked this park, just from the limited time they spent together when Kuroo had been in Japan. Of course, the only problem was that Kuroo couldn't just go up and talk to Kenma, no, they had only met while Kuroo was in one cat form or another (typically scruffy alley cat, aside from their first encounter). He wonders if Kenma has changed as much as he has...

Kuroo sighs deeply out his nose and rubs at his forehead to ease the tension building there. What was he even supposed to do now that he was back in Japan? Get a normal job like a normal person? Who in their right mind would offer someone like him—a fifteen year old punk with no place to stay or way of transportation other than his own two feet (or four, depending on the day)—a job? He certainly wouldn't hire himself, if given the option.

"Hey!" a chirpy voice calls out, startling Kuroo out of his reverie so abruptly that he flinches. "Can I sit here?"

Kuroo scrunches up his face as he looks at the boy standing in front of him. Why would someone like _him_ want to sit by someone like _Kuroo_? He's tall—but not as tall as Kuroo—with obnoxiously fluffy brown hair and large, kind of unappealing, glasses that rest on his nose. But Kuroo isn't one to judge by looks, no, he's judging by smell. This boy smells like burnt toast and money. Well, not literally money, but the fabric he's wearing is expensive and the shoes are leather (who wears leather in summer other than stingy businessmen?).

But if Kuroo _was_ judging by looks, then he'd tell the kid to go get himself a fucking fashion specialist because _god_ , who wears a dark brown jacket and light brown pants with even darker colored shoes. _Ew_. Kuroo is downright offended by that outfit, in all honesty. Who taught this kid to dress himself, because they need to get a CAT scan or something.

The kid is still standing there, oblivious to Kuroo's thoughts, looking at Kuroo expectantly, so Kuroo nods and motions for him to take a seat despite that hideous color combination.

"Cool!" the kid chirps, settling himself onto the bench beside Kuroo gracefully. "My name is Oikawa Tooru! What's yours?"

Kuroo gives the kid an odd look, quirking his eyebrow and flashing him a small smile.

"Kuroo Tetsurou."

"Neat!" the kid—Oikawa—says happily, practically buzzing with energy beside him. "Are you a shapeshifter?"

Kuroo chokes on air, causing Oikawa to look at him with concern and gently pat him on the back.

"You don't just _ask_ people that!" Kuroo practically yells before continuing his coughing fit.

Oikawa seems to ignore that he almost just killed Kuroo and instead decides to perk up and open the black notebook Kuroo hasn't noticed the other boy had been carrying around.

"So I'll take it you _are_ one!" Oikawa says happily when Kuroo is done choking to death, eyes sparkling from behind the bulky frame of his glasses.

"I- You can't- How-" Kuroo splutters, still red-faced from his coughing fit.

"Duh, silly!" Oikawa giggles. "You kinda have this look about ya! It's all in the eyes, ya know? You're probably some kind of cat I'm guessing!"

Kuroo's eyes widen in shock before narrowing in suspicion. Before he lived in another country, he had met some sketchy characters trying to recruit the new generation of shapeshifters the government had created (illegally) using orphaned children (which was wrong in _so_ many ways). Was this dork someone looking for some mindless beast to sic on his enemies? Because he had come to the wrong shapeshifter if that was indeed the case.

"Who are you and what do you want, kid?" Kuroo demands, sitting up straight and glaring down at the brunette as fiercely as possible.

Oikawa doesn't seem intimidated at all, instead just grins and flashes him a peace sign.

"I already told you who I am! I'm just doing research on shapeshifters for a paper that's due next week!" the kid says earnestly, and he seems to actually be telling the truth judging by his scent.

Kuroo glares at him for a moment longer before seemingly accepting the answer and moving back into a more laid back position.

"You could really get yourself into some trouble if you go around asking questions like that to strangers, kid," Kuroo says pointed, causing Oikawa to frown.

"Stop calling me a kid!" he screeches indignantly. "I'm fourteen years old! And you're probably not much older than I am, _kid_!"

"Whatever," Kuroo huffs unhappily under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Sure, this ki- _Oikawa_ is only a year younger than him, but Kuroo has seen some things that even grown men would be horrified seeing. Physically they were basically the same age, but mentally Kuroo was in his fifties while Oikawa was practically five.

Kuroo turns his head away and watches another family walk by, silently brooding to himself. Meanwhile, Oikawa is to his left and actually _pouting_ , bottom lip stuck out childishly and everything. Kuroo can feel his eyes staring into the side of his head, as if he could see through his skull and sift through Kuroo's brain. Kuroo hopes he can't.

He lets out a deep sigh and turns back to the kid, who immediately brightens the moment he knows he's won, the little shit.

"What's your paper on?" Kuroo asks blandly.

"Oh cheer up! It's quite fascinating! My professor had done a lesson on shapeshifters and how they're super unique to our world, and since the assignment was so open-ended, I decided to do my research on bonding between shapeshifters and the other Magicked!" Oikawa says gleefully, pulling a pen out of his pocket eagerly to copy down whatever Kuroo might say in response.

Kuroo hates to disappoint, but he furrows his brow in confusion anyway.

"Bonding?" he asks, frowning to himself.

"Yeah!" Oikawa chirps. "It's when shapeshifters tie themselves mentally to another Magicked! A lot of people don't think it exists..."

Kuroo's eyes widen at Oikawa's words. Is his lovely Kenma... _bonded_ to him? Is that the word he had been looking for all of these years? Is that the feeling that seems so similar to how love is described?

"What are the symptoms of being bonded?" Kuroo asks, suddenly eager.

"Uh..." Oikawa trails off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm not entirely sure. No one has ever tried to investigate it before. Your kind is really secretive about that stuff, you know?"

Kuroo nods, he does know. Shapeshifters are seen as the weakest type of Magicked and therefore whatever advantages they _do_ have they tend to keep to themselves. Even if another shapeshifter asks for information they still won't breathe a word of anything. All Magicked are extremely secretive and private people, but shapeshifters especially.

"Maybe I can help you then, in exchange for a place to stay," Kuroo offers, watching Oikawa's reaction carefully.

"Sure!" he answers immediately. "But how can you help me if _you_ didn't even know what bonding was?"

Kuroo frowns to himself and bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn't want to assume that him and Kenma are bonded, but if they are, it's even more vital he keeps Kenma safe. Then again, this guy seems like he couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to. Plus Kuroo really did need a place to stay.

"I, uh, think I'm bonded to someone," Kuroo explains, willing his cheeks not to betray his embarrassment. "That's actually why I'm here. He used to come to this park a lot, so I figured I'd find him here and then follow him home."

Kuroo sucks in a breath and waits for Oikawa's reaction. The younger does nothing, at first, but then heaves out a bout of hideously loud laughter that causes some people to turn and look at them with curiosity. Oikawa slaps a hand over his own mouth until his boisterous laugher peters off into giggles and snorts.

Kuroo glares at Oikawa, filled with shame and embarrassment and quite a bit of rage.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Oikawa apologizes, but considering he's still giggling under his breath, Kuroo can safely come to the conclusion that he's _not_ sorry at _all_.

"Why's that so funny to you?" Kuroo growls through gritted teeth.

"Y-You're practically s-stalking him!" Oikawa explains before keeling over with laughter once more.

Kuroo fights the urge to punch this kid right in the face, but maybe he is right. Kuroo _is_ sort of stalking Kenma, not that he'll ever admit it out loud. But it's not like Kuroo's stalking him for _fun_ , he has to keep him safe! That's totally different!

"You know what, fine, I'm leaving!" Kuroo huffs and moves to stand.

"Wait!" Oikawa screeches, panicked. "I swear I'll stop! I need to do well on this paper!"

Kuroo pauses a moment, now standing instead of sitting. He really _does_ need a place to stay, he reasons. It's not because this has been the first person in three days to even approach him without cowering in fear.

"If I help you with your paper, you will help me find him and let me stay with you, okay?" Kuroo offers.

Oikawa nods eagerly and offers out a hand.

"It'll be nice working with you, Tetsu-chan! A lucrative deal for the both of us!" Oikawa says maturely, grinning stupidly.

"Sure," Kuroo says, rolling his eyes and ignoring the nickname.

Well, not the worst deal he's ever made, but certainly not the best. Hopefully he'll get rid of this kid quickly and easily, but he feels as if he's walked right into that kid's trap. He has a feeling they'll be working together for quite some time to come, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this! Thanks for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting. Have a good week!


	12. Golden Webs and Char

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I won't take up a lot of your time if you even read these.  
> 1.) Sorry this took so long turns out I had a shit ton for this chapter so I decided to split it up.  
> 2.) This is unedited for now. Like, I'll edit it later just not right now. And also I'll actually give it a chapter name and summary later.  
> 3.) I'm not sure I want to continue this??? IDK. I hope to, I have everything planned out, it's just writing it is a pain in my ass so idk I'm a weak writer don't judge me.  
> Here's this chapter.
> 
> Edit: Hey look I actually edited this like I said I would. Go me. Anywho, I didn't really change too much just added details and fixed mistakes. You can read it again if you want but it's pretty much still the same.

**Present Day**

Iwaizumi places his head in the palms of his hands, the heels of his palms pressing into his eyes.

What happened back there in the bathroom? Was that even real? He wants to believe that it's all just a figment of his imagination, or even an extremely vivid hallucination brought on by a persistent concussion. Sadly, enough weird shit has been happening that he can't quite believe that all of it is bullshit; some of it must at least be real.

So far, he's been kidnapped by a man with a snake tattoo (Daishou Suguru, if his memory serves him well), held hostage by a weirdo named Oikawa Tooru, received a sketchy note from a supposed Daishou Suguru, wandered into a strange forest and found a weird glowing symbol followed up by a large gap in his memory, met someone who claims that magic is real and another that claims he's a shapeshifter, and encountered a creature that seems to have been part bird.

That's all... explainable, sort of. Hallucinogenic drugs is a possibility—Oikawa _did_ inject him with some sort of strange liquid—but it's been a week and a half, if he was drugged it should have worn off by now. Not to mention how his canine teeth were oddly shaped, like a dog's, in the bathroom along with a pounding headache and a sort of odd dizziness that he can't seem to shake.

The only explanation is that all of this is real, but yet, can he really believe that? Can he really believe that he is supposedly a shapeshifter and that magic is real? He's been pondering it for days, but he can't seem to wrap his head around it. Iwaizumi keeps thinking he believes, but then it just doesn't quite add up afterwards.

Maybe it's just because the idea of magic is preposterous. After all, how is a grown man in his twenties supposed to believe in magic? Even as a kid he never believed in that sort of thing. Maybe that's why he just can't seem to accept that any of this is for real. It's like finding out that ghosts weren't real except the next day you actually _see_ one, and maybe you believe that they're real, but the whole world keeps on believing that that type of thing doesn't exist.

Either way, he needs to talk to Kuroo, maybe even needs to talk to Oikawa if the situation demands it. If this _is_ real, then what he hell is he supposed to do? How can he just continue his life? Is he even _allowed_ to continue having a normal life?

"Iwaizumi-kun," a man's voice says, startling him out of his frustrated revere.

Iwaizumi lifts his head from his hands and flinches when he realizes it's Irihata-san who's looming ominously over his desk; his boss doesn't take slacking off very well. Iwaizumi straightens up to the best of his abilities and tries to pretend that he isn't having a mild existential crisis at work when he _should_ be filling out paperwork.

"Iwaizumi-kun, are you feeling alright today? You've been acting very oddly," he asks, hands spread out on Iwaizumi's desk.

"Um," Iwaizumi falters, "I haven't exactly been feeling the best today, sorry sir."

Irihata-san's piercing glare lifts from his face, replaced with almost a pleasant smile that makes Iwaizumi's blood run cold. Iwaizumi sucks in a startled inhale through his nose, paling instantly when he smells the scent radiating off of his boss.

_That's not Irihata-san._

The smell is cold and metallic and not at all like Irihata usually is. Irihata doesn't smile like that when people are slacking off, Irihata doesn't absentmindedly run his hands over the ridges in the wood of the desk, Irihata doesn't smell like that, he's supposed to smell of gunpowder and cigarettes and whiskey, not like metal and cold and copper.

Iwaizumi tries to calm the pounding of his heart in his chest and squash down the feeling that he should make a break for the door across the room, because this wasn't right.

Not-Irihata-san grins and waves off Iwaizumi's blatant staring, or maybe he—it—just doesn't care that Iwaizumi's caught on to its... oddness.

"Would you please follow me into my office, Iwaizumi-kun? I'd like to have a word," Not-Irihata says.

Iwaizumi wants to shake his head no and sprint out of there, but he swallows his fear—it settles like cold stones in the pit of his stomach—and nods anyway. If this wasn't Irihata-san, then there must be a reason for him talking to Iwaizumi, there must be a reason he's _not_ Irihata-san.

Iwaizumi stands up from his desk to follow Not-Irihata-san into his office, but something at the entrance of the police station catches his eye. At first it just kind of looks like a single headlight reflecting in the window, but as it slowly triples in size Iwaizumi becomes increasingly aware that this is _not normal_ and definitely _not a headlight_.

Not-Irihata turns to ask Iwaizumi why he's not following, or something of that sort, but then the light is growing at a rapid rate, filling the office with an unearthly glow that's so bright that, even as Iwaizumi shields his eyes with his hands, he can still see the illumination that's filling the room. Even as the light dies down again, Iwaizumi can still see colorful spots of blue, green, and red behind his eyelids where the odd lighting is burned into his eyes. Everything is quiet for a few precious seconds, like the entire world has stopped moving.

"It smells like piss in here," a disgusted voice says, breaking the eerie moment.

Iwaizumi lowers his hands from his eyes and is amazed at what he sees.

It's like everything has been stuck in time, held together by glowing spidery webs that weave across the room. Yachi-kun is in mid-type while Not-Irihata is standing with his mouth open, ready to tell Iwaizumi to hurry up. A dozen co-workers are frozen in place, either getting up out of their chairs or their eyes still focused on their computers.

Webs of gold stretch from person to person, like tiny golden strings wrapping around their bodies and freezing them in place. All of the thin strands lead back to the entrance of the police station, gathering around two beings like they are the center—the focus point—of all of this calm mayhem. Standing in the middle of it all is a smug looking Kuroo Tetsurou and a man Iwaizumi has never met before.

The other man is staring at the ground blankly, poorly dyed blonde strands falling into his golden eyes that dart across the floor like he's afraid it will fall out from underneath him at any moment. He's shorter than Kuroo by a lot, and a lot slimmer too if his scrawny, bare arms are anything to go by. Both Kuroo and the other man seem to have not noticed the shimmering webs of golden light stretching through the room, or maybe they just didn't care about all of the strands gathered around them.

If Iwaizumi was one for guessing, he'd say time itself was frozen, but only in the office, because outside he can still see cars driving by and the wind shake the trees. He wonders how that's possible that part of the world can stand still while the other part slowly plods along without any mind of the frozen moment.

Iwaizumi blinks slowly, still in shock, when Kuroo speaks up again.

"Kenma, you didn't accidentally freeze him too, did you?" Kuroo asks the other man—Kenma apparently.

Kenma shakes his head and stares at the ground anxiously.

"What?" Iwaizumi croaks, eyes darting around the room warily.

Kuroo grins slyly at Iwaizumi and slings an arm around the other man, who grimaces and shrugs off Kuroo's side-hug. That must happen a lot, because Kuroo seems unaffected by the motion.

"My partner here is good with time, and by that I mean he's excellent with it, one in a billion!" Kuroo exclaims, gesturing with his hands at the scene around them. "Really, he's more like one in 7.4 billion!"

Iwaizumi just stares at the two of them in shock. They _couldn't_ have stopped time, that is _impossible_... right?

"And he can't just stop time either, Iwaizumi. No, my kitten can go back too," Kuroo brags proudly, causing Kenma to flush a bright shade of red.

"Kuro," he murmurs just loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear. "Hurry."

"Ah," Kuroo says, nodding. "Right. Well, Iwaizumi, you wanted to talk, here we are!"

"I..." Iwaizumi tries, but his brain is still too busy trying to process the scene before him to make coherent sentences, apparently.

"What?" Kuroo asks, smirking cockily. "Cat got your tongue?"

" _Kuro_ ," Kenma says, urgency in his voice, eyes fixated on Not-Irihata-san to Iwaizumi's right.

Iwaizumi and Kuroo both look towards the man, both of them immediately zeroing in what Kenma was seeing. Not-Irihata's hands were immersed in gold, like he was prying apart the golden web Kenma had created.

Kuroo immediately turns serious, jaw setting in a determined way.

"Okay, not here then. Come on, Iwaizumi, you said you wanted to talk, but it looks like we'll have to go somewhere else to do so. Let's go," Kuroo says, turning swiftly on his heel and placing a hand protectively on Kenma's shoulder, not waiting to make sure Iwaizumi follows.

Iwaizumi takes one look at Not-Irihata-san and is immediately following close behind Kuroo and Kenma.

*****

This isn't the first time Iwaizumi's been in Kuroo's car, but it's the first time he's been in the back seat. Kuroo drives away from the police station at an alarming speed, Kenma and Iwaizumi safely secured in the back seat, each taking turns glancing awkwardly at each other while Kuroo talks, his voice rising in fear, just a barely noticeable crack in his otherwise perfect armor.

"That shouldn't have happened! How could he have been breaking through? No human can do that!"

"It could have been a weak spot, Kuro, I'm not infallible," Kenma murmurs blandly from beside Iwaizumi.

He's so quiet that Iwaizumi has to strain to hear him, but apparently Kuroo doesn't have that problem because he huffs indignantly.

"You're damn near infallible," Kuroo growls, his grip tightening on the steering wheel so much that his knuckles turn white. "That guy didn't smell right, like he had slathered himself in some sort of metal. No normal person smells like that, Magicked or otherwise."

"Don't worry, Kuro, I broke it down before he could break through. He won't even know what happened," Kenma says nonchalantly, breaking his gaze from Kuroo's seat to stare out the window.

It's obvious to Iwaizumi that Kuroo's panicked, for some reason, but Kenma doesn't seem to be bothered at all. Iwaizumi, meanwhile, is just plain old confused and a little overwhelmed.

Kenma couldn't have stopped time, could he?

Kuroo makes a sharp right turn, causing Iwaizumi to tighten his grip on the edge of the seat.

"So, Iwaizumi, is that guy why you called us?" Kuroo asks, glancing at Iwaizumi in his rearview mirror.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and focuses his gaze on the houses passing by as they go fifty in a thirty-five zone. Despite the fact that Iwaizumi is a cop, he can't find it in himself to tell Kuroo to slow down. Honestly he just wants to get as far away as possible from whatever weird shit was going on at the police station. He just wanted today to be normal. Is that too much for a guy to ask?

"Something weird happened, that's all," Iwaizumi says.

"Weirder than that dude?" Kuroo asks, eyebrow lifted in interest.

"Yeah," Iwaizumi replies. "I started getting these weird headache things and then I started hearing a voice in my head. When I went to the bathroom, I was all dizzy and nauseous and when I looked in the mirror, I had these... teeth..."

"Pointed?" Kuroo asks.

"Huh?"

"Were they pointed, like canines?" Kuroo asks, his gaze finally turned back to the road in front of them.

"Yeah," Iwaizumi says distractedly. "But that's not even the weirdest part. There was this... creature in the bathroom too. He was cloaked at first, but the hood melted when I grabbed a hold of it, or something like that. He was normal except for the side of his face was covered in these black feather-looking things. He told me, or I think he told me, to find someone."

"Who?" Kenma asks, gaze suddenly on Iwaizumi again. "Who'd he ask you to find?"

Iwaizumi shudders under the intensity of Kenma's golden gaze; it was like the other man could see right through him. It reminded Iwaizumi of Kuroo's eyes, except more prying and less predatory, but just as dangerous nonetheless.

"I don't know," Iwaizumi replies.

"You don't know?" Kenma sounded disbelieving.

"I don't know," Iwaizumi confirms.

Kenma turns his head away with a hum, effectively shutting down any sort of conversation or questions that might arise. After that the three of them fall into perfect silence, save for Kuroo's muttering under his breath and their steady inhales and exhales. It's not until Kuroo turns onto a familiar street that Iwaizumi recognizes where they are and decides to break the hush that has fallen over them.

"Are you taking me back to that Oikawa guy's house?" Iwaizumi asks indignantly.

Kenma flinches at the sudden burst of noise, but Kuroo doesn't seem to be alarmed at all. Really, the only indication that he's even heard Iwaizumi is the small grin that peels back his lips. Kuroo glances up at the rearview mirror and grins even wider when Iwaizumi catches his eyes.

"Maybe. Why does it matter?" Kuroo asks, a smooth undertone to his voice that wasn't there before, like he's planning something that will end in havoc.

Iwaizumi frowns slightly and thinks about answering with "That guy's really weird and I sort of don't ever want to see him again but yet I kind of _do_ want to see him again and don't know why and really I'm just not sure about anything that's been going on recently and it all seems to be his and that Daishou guy's fault so I don't want to see him but also if I do I might actually be able to believe all of this is real but if it is real then I'm screwed," but he bites down the real response—with some difficulty—and forces himself to take on a less panicked and agitated tone than the one in his head.

"It doesn't matter," Iwaizumi manages to calmly spit out, but the lie leaves a bitter taste on his tongue that he despises.

Kuroo makes a humming noise of acknowledgement, but Iwaizumi knows he isn't even exceptional enough at lying to fool anyone with half a brain, so he figures Kuroo just decided to show him mercy and not question his response.

None of them speak up again until Kuroo pulls into a parking space in front of a pristine, white house that's practically identical to nearly every other one on the street they had just come down. Iwaizumi temporarily wonders how much money a person would have to make to have a house like that, because suburban houses like these don't come cheap. Needless to say, _someone_ in Oikawa's family was probably loaded or had connections or _something_ that allowed the family to have a house like that.

But despite the pristine paint and the perfect green lawn and the unmarred concrete stairs, something about the house was imperfect, and it took Iwaizumi all of thirty seconds to spot it. The door was swung wide open, with some black substance—it almost looked like char from where Iwaizumi was—smeared across the tannish-white of the paint.

It seems as if Kuroo noticed the door as soon as Iwaizumi had, because the other was out of the car as quickly as Iwaizumi was. Iwaizumi was already running through the possibilities in his mind as him and Kuroo approached the door with Kenma trailing not too far behind.

No one with a half of a brain would leave a door wide open in this neighborhood, not when there were plenty of people trying to steal things (or, at least, rich people _thinking_ others were going to steal things). So was this a breaking and entering? That seems unlikely to Iwaizumi, considering everyone knows that anyone rich enough to afford houses like these were definitely cautious and paranoid enough to install some sort of home security system. And the markings. What was that even made of? It appeared to be some sort of char or ash or something of that sort. What home invader smeared char all over the front door?

Kuroo seemed to be analyzing this scene too, because he almost walks straight into the door that had swung further open with a particularly strong gust of wind. One of Kenma's delicate hands reaches out and grabs ahold of Kuroo's shirt before he can hit the door, prompting Kenma to look at him worriedly.

"I'm alright," Kuroo reassures, but it looks to Iwaizumi like he's visibly shaking. "I'm alright. Let's find Oikawa. He's alright."

Kuroo is the first one to enter the house, hands curled into fists at his sides as he looks through the entryway. Kenma follows Kuroo, hand still curled into the fabric of Kuroo's shirt in a way that looks fearful, but somehow Iwaizumi feels like it's more a possessive move than anything else. Iwaizumi warily follows the two of them into the household, a bad feeling creeping up on him along with shivers that raises the hair on the back of his neck.

Kuroo creeps through the hallway, eyes frantically searching each room as they pass by. Iwaizumi wants to tell Kuroo to hurry up and search faster because it almost feels like he's suffocating in the damn hallway, like his impatience is filling the air and weighing down every breath that he takes.

Suddenly, Kuroo halts his movement and almost causes Iwaizumi to run into Kenma due to the abruptness of his stop. Iwaizumi's about to ask Kuroo why he's stopped when he catches a glimpse of the doorway to what—if Iwaizumi remembers correctly—should be the kitchen.

There's a charred handprint embedded into the wall right outside of the room, which seems to have caught Kuroo's attention. Kuroo practically bolts into that room, Kenma not far behind. Iwaizumi follows a lot slower and with a lot more caution, considering everything he's seen so far has pointed to what is going on probably being one of the more disturbing things he's seen. When Iwaizumi _does_ make his way into the kitchen, what he sees forces his breath to halt in his throat.

There's a line of char and ash that stretches from the doorway to the unmoving body on the ground. Kuroo's hunched over the body, his coat strewn across fair skin that has been marred with scratches. Oikawa's eyes are tightly shut, his right hand clawing at the floor like he's having some sort of nightmare, except it's not a nightmare, because he's laying in the middle of his kitchen naked and surrounded by ash. What the hell even happened here?

"What?" is all Iwaizumi can manage to choke out not for the first time today.

Kuroo's response is to grit his teeth and take ahold of Oikawa's wrist and feel his pulse while angrily muttering to himself. Iwaizumi doesn't get any semblance of a real answer until Kenma walks back in, cellphone in hand.

"Kuro—" Kenma tries, but the other man is livid, judging by the angry set of his jaw and the worried scrunch of his eyebrows, and refuses to let Kenma speak more than a few words in his angry panic.

"Call Akaashi," Kuroo growls angrily, shifting his coat to cover more of Oikawa's skin. "I have a pulse but he's not accepting my magic."

"What do you me—" Kenma tries again.

"It means that he's not fucking accepting my magic!" Kuroo snaps, eyes flashing more golden than Iwaizumi's ever seen them. "He's rejecting my help, Kenma! He's going to fucking die because he doesn't have any magic left if Akaashi doesn't get his ass over here _right. fucking. now_."

Kenma takes an unnecessarily lengthy moment to look concerned about Kuroo before exiting the room again, tapping at something on the phone. Iwaizumi's still very confused, and honestly a little scared of Kuroo, because there's no way Oikawa's going to _die_ from not having magic, right? Nobody's dying, right?

"Iwaizumi," Kuroo says darkly, eyes boring into Iwaizumi's head.

Iwaizumi does his best to meet Kuroo's gaze, but he finds that it's nearly impossible to; he feels as if he should keep his head lowered for his own safety.

"You're going to help me save this incredibly stupid asshole, alright?" Kuroo asks.

Iwaizumi nods dumbly, but he's not really sure how he could even begin to help. He's a cop, not a doctor. His training was in arresting people, not saving their life.

"You're going to lend him some of your magic, so get your ass over here," Kuroo demands, and Iwaizumi obliges, even though he's still very unsure about this whole magic thing.

When Iwaizumi sits down in a way that mimics Kuroo's kneeling/leaning position next to Oikawa's body, he's surprised to feel the cold radiating from Oikawa, like someone's constructed a fluffy-haired lookalike of the man and filled him with ice cubes.

"Give me one of your hands," Kuroo commands.

Iwaizumi offers up his right hand, a little concerned with his own health considering how pissed off Kuroo looks. The other man grabs his wrist and guides Iwaizumi's hand to the center of Oikawa's back. When Iwaizumi's warm skin touches Oikawa's cold skin, the contrast makes a shudder run through his body. It's eerie, considering it feels like he's touching frozen meat, except a lot smoother and more human-feeling.

"I'm going to let go," Kuroo says, "and if it works, you'll know it."

Iwaizumi wants this all to be a very vivid and very odd dream, but the look in Kuroo's eyes lets him know that this is real, that someone could _die_ , and honestly that scares the shit out of him. Iwaizumi's seen plenty of death before, has seen how it affects people, and he doesn't ever want to see it again, especially not first hand like it was last time. Watching someone die right before your eyes does something to a person.

"Okay, I'm going to let go," Kuroo says, tone much lighter and hopeful than it was before.

Iwaizumi nods before Kuroo's fingers slip from his wrist, and the weight of the entire world comes crashing down upon him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~ :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it! It'd be cool if you hit the Kudo button if you liked it so far. It'd also be awesome if you chose to comment but it's alright if you don't want to! Have a good day! :D


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